Fury
by Matthewstaffordfan17
Summary: Stafford Baratheon is the only trueborn child of Robert Baratheon. A formidable warrior for his age, Stafford gets caught up in the plots and intrigue of the royal houses. And after his father is killed in the hunting accident, and he inevitably gets caught up in trying to play the game of thrones.
1. AGOT Stafford I

**A/N: This is a collaboration between one of my esteemed friends Deus_Vult_Inf1del, please check out his other works and it would be wrong not to mention him. Also to clarify, Stafford, Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella, Sansa, Rickon, Bran, Arya, Jon, and Robb will have their respective show ages. For example Stafford is 15 and Joffrey is 16. Sansa and Arya are 13 and 11 respectively. That is all for now, and hope you enjoy the first part of this story.**

The ride from King's Landing took its toll on young Stafford. They had spent more than a month on the Kingsroad. The boredom he felt made him beg to return to Kings Landing where the only activity worth noting was axe training and axe throwing competitions. He rode next to his father in the main column as he always had when they traveled. The north, colder than even the most bizarre expectations. Stafford, not much of a fan of long rides, wondered when they would stop. He wondered what the castle of Winterfell would be like and whether it would also be as cold as the holds they had visited in the north. Stafford's coat, spun from dozens of spools of cloth-of-gold and pitch-black onyx, was so heavy it draped over the hindquarters of Stafford's fine steed, stirring not a hair in the roughest charge or the coldest winds of the North.

His armor shone in the sun, a heavy padded gambeson beneath blackened mail, under a resplendent black cuirass of the finest castle-forged steel. It was engraved in golden scrollwork, intricate designs of a lion and stag prancing upon a field as black as a starless night sky. The cuirass was fluted and etched, as to deflect and spread the impact of blows more effectively.

His bespoke greaves, gauntlets and gorget were lobstered steel, flexible and lightweight, yet strong and tough. They were of black steel etched in rougher gold scrollwork, for he knew they would be worn and faded after all the battles he will fight.

Stafford's armor never helped calm the restlessness within him, as they continued through the Kingsroad, listening to the droning, monotonous beat of horse hooves clopping on the dirt road. He kept his axe and shield close by making sure no one would surprise the royal party in the road.

Although not the best rider, there wasn't any question in his anyone in Westeros that Stafford is one of the most proficient if not legendary in the use of an axe. Although not particularly fast, and of only moderate stamina in a melee, if Stafford got in close and hit a man with his axe, expect the fight to end rather quickly. He is especially good against sword users, and an equal match against spearmen as evidenced by the countless amount of times he had beaten people in sparring sessions, and even in minor melees his father had allowed him to participate in. He had trained in combat since the tender age of five, a rare feat in Westeros, if not the world. Ser Barristan Selmy and Sandor Clegane had taken turns training Stafford. He had the technical skill and the ruthlessness to match in combat. He had definitely spent more hours training than his brother. It is too bad the training didn't condition him for the cold he experienced now.

He envied his brother, although older than him, still rode in the carriage with his mother. Stafford's father had voiced his appreciation to him for actually riding in the chilly climate of the rocky, rolling hills of the North they travelled in, and not sitting back with their mother in the Royal carriage. They japed and bickered relentlessly, and Stafford felt he could understand his father more.

"Father, how much longer are we too Winterfell?" Stafford asked his father.

"Not long now, my boy. Scouts tell me we're only a few miles away, and considering the harsh terrain they've observed, it may take a whole lot longer, that's for damned sure." Robert grumbled.

Stafford knew they were close, he saw the castle towering in the distance. Despite the distance between them, he knew that the many, unmistakably massive curtained walls towered over him, weathered monoliths built upon the sprawling palace by the many generations of Starks. He gazed upon them with awe. A family, coming together to make something truly grand. He wished he could say the same, but remembered the absence of his uncle Stannis and the constant feuds and resentment of him and Renly against his father. Whatever is in there, Stafford felt a subtle but sure stirring of excitement. He hoped to have the merry time in the castle and meet new people.

"Excellent, maybe then I might enjoy some food and wine," Stafford responded with a smile.

"You and I both, You and I both," Robert chortled. They continued their way down the Kingsroad.

"Father, why are we going to Winterfell?" Stafford asked

"To pay our respects to a friend, nothing more. No, not a friend, but a brother, close as blood." Robert replied. Eddard Stark had been instrumental in the rebellion his father had started to gain the Iron Throne. It was no secret that Lord Eddard was his father's closest friend and companion, always loyal and ready to fight his friends. For Robert, the feeling was mutual.

Stafford was told that Lyanna Stark was supposed to be wed to his father, but she died during the rebellion, in a tower, far away in the mountains of Dorne. Lord Eddard fought the Arthur Dayne, Gerold Hightower, and Oswell Whent. All stalwart fighters, but despite his admiration of their dedication, his father's words were anything but flattering.

Father had told him about her. Of all the things he remembered, he loved her, he told him. And he never stopped. Robert, in his older age, doubted many things of this world, but one thing he could never doubt was how deeply he loved Lyanna Stark.

Stafford wondered if he loved his mother the same way. Stafford thought if his mother loved him too, she said she did, but she paid attention to Joffrey more by his observations. He spent more time with his father, and Joffrey despised him for that. His father had always seemed to pay attention to him more, but Stafford attributed that more to their common interests.

"I see,"

"Indeed, I hoped to show you something there as well. Something I can't show Joffrey," Robert declared. Stafford wondered what it was, but suddenly the conversation between him and his father turned to the cold it had been.

After what seemed like an entire winter, they finally arrived Winterfell. Stafford and the royal bannerman entered into the keep with their banner of the crowned stag. They poured into the keep like gold into coffers. Stafford and his father headed in first slightly ahead of the royal carriage. Suddenly, as soon as Stafford caught sight of Eddard Stark, his father vaulted off his warhorse and roared, " _Ned!"_

His father gave him what looked like bone crushing hug. He knew his father well, greeting people in such a great boisterous fashion. Stafford dismounted his horse and approached his father and Eddard Stark, already deep in japing.

"Excellent timing my boy, allow me to introduce you. This is my second son, Ned. Stafford. Got his name from his uncle," Robert introduced.

"It is my pleasure to meet you," Stafford bowed.

"And you as well Stafford. My children are over there, they would be delighted to make your acquaintance," Eddard Stark cordially stated.

"Don't let his current manner fool you, he is actually quite the boisterous child," Robert jested.

"Takes after his father then," Eddard replied. Stafford excused himself and approached the Stark children. As he looked at the six Starks, he began to examine them. The first of the Starks, who he assumed was Robb by is appearance. The boy held himself up well, like a young lord. He had a strong and powerful build, not as stocky as Stafford, but a lot more than Joffrey was. He had blue eyes the color of sapphires and thick red-brown hair. He looked as if he could punch the Wall into a million shards, or at least, he wanted to. With his famously beautiful mother standing next to them, he tended to favour her looks rather than Lord Eddard's in Stafford's opinion.

"You must be Robb Stark. I am Stafford, and I am delighted to meet you. Now where can someone get some food in this castle, living on camp rations for months leaves me yearning for better food," Stafford stated.

"We'll be fed soon enough, Prince Stafford. It is also an honor to meet someone as important as yourself," Robb replied in a surprised tone. Stafford had reasoned Robb had been surprised by the way he found out he was without even knowing who he was. To be honest, it took simple

Stafford wasn't sharp in regards to intelligence or wisdom, but he had keen investigative skills. His perception seemed second to none in his family, especially compared to Joffrey, who had to get his mommy to explain the entire world to.

As he shifted his gaze to the right, he found himself facing the youngest Stark children, Bran and Rickon. With dark, reddish brown hair and pale greyish blue eyes, they looked like a strong mix of Lord and Lady Stark.

Bran's ungroomed and ruffled hair was covered in dust of castle stones. His knees were scraped, his palms and fingers calloused and gnarled, and Bran's gaze darted about subtly, as if surveying which tower should he climb next, as judging by his well-toned and agile build, he would've grown bored of all the others he scaled as easily as walking and breathing.

Rickon was grinning and babbling, much like Bran, filled with this youthful vigor and energy that not unlike Stafford's despite his older age.

After a friendly greetings to Bran and Rickon, he turned his attention to the second eldest Stark Boy.

This Stark was lean and slim, his pale-grey eyes greeting Stafford with a sudden shock, by virtue of how cold and oddly sad they were. He wondered why this Stark seemed so miserable. A shock of wild, curly hair fell across his shoulders, with light and freshly shaven stubble framing his long face. With a warm smile, he opened his mouth to greet him. "Greetings, friend. Yet another fine man of House Sta-"

"Stafford, that boy is Lord Eddard's Bastard. His name is Jon Snow." Robert corrected him.

"Oh. Sorry, then. Either way, it's a pleasure to meet you, Jon Snow."

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Stafford. I'll be seeing you around, I guess."

With a friendly smile, he then turned to the gorgeous young lass standing next to Jon Snow. She stood tall, slim yet curvaceous. Her face was of high cheekbones and lush, pouty lips that made Stafford struggle to cage the newfound lust and desire of his heart and loins. He made no attempt to keep his eyes from wandering, as her innocent yet stunning ice-blue eyes pinned them in place like a quarrel into a man's bowels. They were a vivid blue like the flashes of lightning striking Storm's End, heralding the storms ready to lay waste to all in their path. She had a certain grace and magnetism to her as well, he realized, as he found himself leaning toward her like she was the heart of his world. Her auburn hair cascaded down her shoulders like waterfalls of molten red-gold, kissed by the fire of the brightest stars.

"And you must be Lady Sansa then. Well, I'll say it now, they weren't exaggerating about the rumors of your beauty in the south. Some Lords even call you the jewel of the North. I for one think that is far too little a title to give you," Stafford managed to declare as he was honestly still mesmerized by her. Stafford hadn't really taken an interest in girls in the south for their looks, she totally seemed in a different realm than those in the south. Stafford didn't really know much about her, so he really didn't know what to feel about her.

"Thank you, Prince Stafford you are very kind," Sansa stated hiding what looked like a blush to Stafford. He wondered whether she thought he is just flattering her, but he meant his words. Next to her there was another girl, who had been rolling her eyes as Stafford had complemented Sansa.

She was of shorter stature than her and definitely looked a little younger. Arya Stark was skinnier and leaner than her sister, her shuffling hands calloused and clenched in had a long face, not too long, but definitely much longer than her sisters. Arya Stark had storm-grey eyes the color of two crucibles of valyrian steel, darker than the blackest clouds smashing themselves upon Storm's End after all else has fallen before them. These piercing, massive and utterly visceral eyes shone through her face that was curtained by dark brown hair, wild and untamed. Arya held a less graceful air, more supercharged and ready to strike like arcs of fire from the heavens, yet had a no less calm and stoic demeanor. Like a drawn longbow, knocked and ready to rain several hells on whatever it damn well pleased.

"And you must be Arya, one time when father was drunk he described what Lyanna Stark looked like. Judging by what he says, you and Lyanna share very similar features. Well, he might have been exaggerating a few details, because he was drunk, but a Targaryen prince abducted her for her beauty," Stafford stated.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Arya snapped back at him.

"I was simply stating that you looked...well captivating," Stafford replied. Stafford came to regret these words as Robb immediately shot a look his way. Robb seemed to be shock when he stated this. Arya seemed shocked at this as well.

"What do you mean captivating?" Arya asked, stunned.

"Well it is hard to keep my eyes off you, I mean it's hard to stop staring, wait that's even worse, uh," Stafford fumbled around for words, but couldn't find any words without sounding even creepier. Every time he fumbled around for words and began blabbering like an idiot, Stafford noticed Arya give out a little giggle. He could tell she was enjoying herself watching him stumble on his words like a fool.

Suddenly from behind him, he felt someone tap on his shoulder. He turned and found his father in the process of covering his ass in a most embarrassing and rapidly escalating conversation.

"If you would excuse me, I have been summoned by my father," A now flustered Stafford stated. Stafford felt lucky to be summoned by his father at that moment.

"Yes, father?" Stafford asked King Robert. King Robert turned to him. No words could describe the graciousness in Stafford's eyes and the sigh of relief he felt as he walked away, still feeling Arya Stark's bemused gaze and hearing Robb Stark's faint and stifled laughter.

"Remember the thing I was going to show you? The one we talked about in the Kingsroad?" Robert asked. Stafford nodded.

"Are you sure you want to come with us Stafford?" Eddard asked.

"I'll see whatever father wants me to see," Stafford replied. They then excused themselves from the crowd as more people poured into the main hall. He noticed the Royal carriage had also arrived and that his mother and Joffrey were there along with his other siblings Tommen and Myrcella. Stafford and Joffrey didn't look anything alike and they both knew it. Stafford seemed the only child Robert had that looked even remotely Baratheon. When they were young, Joffrey used to tease Stafford about him being a bastard and to him responding with a sharp right hook to the face. It usually either knocked Joffrey out or gave him a fat lip. It then followed with a scolding from his mother and praise from his father about how he had stood his ground against someone older than him.

They went down to a crypt together. It seemed dusty and old, like something straight out of the dungeons in King's Landing.

The winding stone steps were narrow. Eddard went first with the lantern.

"I was starting to think we would never reach Winterfell," Robert complained as they descended. "In the south, the way they talk about my Seven Kingdoms, a man forgets that your part is as big as the other six combined." "

I trust you enjoyed the journey, Your Grace?" Eddard asked

Robert snorted. "Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I've never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?" "Likely they were too shy to come out," Eddard jested. He could feel the chill coming up the stairs, a cold breath from deep within the earth. "Kings are a rare sight in the north." Robert snorted. "More likely they were hiding under the snow. Snow, Ned!" The king put one hand on the wall to steady himself as they descended. Stafford listen to the two men catch up as they went into the crypt. When they finally reached the bottom of the staircase Stafford noticed that his father had grown red and sweaty from the ordeal. Stafford definitely seemed in better shape than his father.

"Your Grace," Eddard said respectfully. He swept the lantern in a wide semicircle. Shadows moved and lurched. Flickering light touched the stones underfoot and brushed against a long procession of granite pillars that marched ahead, two by two, into the dark. Between the pillars, the dead sat on their stone thrones against the walls, backs against the sepulchers that contained their mortal remains. "She is down at the end, with Father and Brandon."

The two paid their respects as Stafford stood there carefully observing the tombs. There were three tombs, side by side. Lord Rickard Stark, Lord Eddard's father, had a long, stern face. The stonemason had known him well. He sat with quiet dignity, stone fingers holding tight to the sword across his lap, but in life all swords had failed him. In two smaller sepulchers on either side were his children. The other two belonged to who he believed was Brandon and Lyanna.

"My boy this is why I brought you here. Although you never met these people in person understand the value of what you have now. You never know if the gods will send some bitch like Rhaegar to take it all away from you," King Robert explained bitterly. Stafford could still tell the deep disdain in his voice as he said Rhaegar's name. He didn't blame him.

"I understand," Stafford thought to himself. This is why he had been the one to come not Joffrey. Joffrey wouldn't have understood what his father meant.

The two continued talking about things foreign to him and Stafford began to lose focus, but he suddenly focused into a conversation involving him.

Robert looked at him. "I think you do. If so, you are the only one, my old friend." He smiled. "Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you the Hand of the King." This news stunned Stafford. He thought they were only here to visit Lord Eddard, and now his father had just appointed him to hand of king. Jon Arryn had once occupied position after his unfortunate demise. The Hand is one of the most important positions in all the realm, and it was deemed a great honor to be named it.

They continued to talk about the position as his father tried to persuade him of his importance.

"You helped me win this damnable throne, now help me hold it. We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have two sons. You have two daughters. My Joff and your Sansa and my Staff and your Arya will join our houses, as Lyanna and would have done."

And this news shocked Stafford the most. He had not been told he was going to be betrothed during this journey.

"Wait, w-what?!" Stafford managed to blurt out.

"My boy, Ned helped me win the throne it is only a matter of time before I give back," Robert stated.

"Give me some time to think, Robert," Eddard stated

"Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn, sleep on it if you must." The king reached down, clasped Ned by the hand, and pulled him roughly to his feet. "Just don't keep me waiting too long. I am not the most patient of men."

Indeed his father was not, but one thing was for certain, Stafford had been caught up in something he desperately wanted to avoid. It's too bad it wasn't like a fight, he really had to find a way to make this work without his physical talents. It appears Ser Barristan was right after all, an axe won't solve all of his problems.


	2. AGOT Stafford II

**A/N: Before the chapter begins I will like to clarify the three way pairing in the description. The only reason Stafford is paired with both Sansa and Arya is merely, because we have not decided, who his pairing should be yet. Both will play key roles in his life, but only ONE will be his romantic partner. Also the romance will not be the central theme of the story, but it will be a major subplot. For all those, who have read thank you for the continued support and we will continue writing for you. Some of the alignments might be off, because some of this was written from a phone and going back to individually change it would take a long time.**

 _Stafford_

Stafford still in a deep shock of the events that had transpired in the crypt. It wasn't like he was angry, he was more surprised than anything else. Stafford, only a boy of fifteen, thought that marriage would come much later in his life. He never knew he could somehow become betrothed to someone, let alone someone he had just met. Stafford didn't have much experience dealing with these matters. For all his princely grace, many forgot he wasn't finished growing up.

Most of his life's memories were a blur, and he scarcely remembered his childhood. It was as if he went to sleep a babe at his reluctant mother's breast and woke up a grown lad, taller and stronger and tougher than most. His heart and mind was timeless, forever young and reckless. But it also meant that he grew old faster than he could grow up.

Stafford knew, since the youngest age, he felt his emotions harder and deeper than most. Sadness felt like a hot bucket full of rats tearing through his chest, happiness felt like the warmest bonfire of his father's hunting trips, and anger felt like a mountain crushing his skull into paste. It was hard, but he finally learned how to conceal them, as he knew it was essential for such occasions. He had to be strong for the courtly matters. For father, he thought.

As the Royal procession for the feast began, Stafford stood arm in arm with his betrothed. Stafford could tell she felt as awkward as he did as it began. Luckily, he was the one who knew about the betrothal, as it would make it even more awkward. Eddard Stark came out first with his mother. Stafford believed his mother to be one of the most beautiful women in Westeros. She had long golden hair and she was wearing an ornate, golden tiara with green emeralds on it. It matched her emerald eyes perfectly, in Stafford's opinion. His mother had always told him how he looked like Robert during the rebellion. His mother cared for him, but despite all the songs she sang him into the night with and how close she held him as a babe, she was as far from him as his father was to Joffery. Stafford never knew why.

Next came his father with Lady Catelyn on his arm. She shared many of the loveliness of Sansa Stark, but carried an air of wisdom and maturity brought by older age. Stafford knew that his father, despite his smiles and roaring laughs punctuated by a tip of his flagon, felt as if he died on with Rhaegar on the Trident too. But he knew must be strong.

Everyone kept on saying on how he looked like Robert. Stafford could still see it, but his father just still seemed different from what he used to be. They called him the demon of the trident. Stafford wondered how his father had bested the prince at the trident. Many spoke of his skill with the war hammer. Ser Barristan told him he shared similar skill with his axe, especially his long battle axe, which he used frequently. Ser Barristan had been tasked to train him in combat by his father. He was somewhat like a mentor to him.

Next came the first of the children, Rickon Stark came first. He walked in the most dignified manner a young boy could muster. He watch from behind as he stopped by what looked like his half brother Jon, and went on to the feast table. After Rickon came Bran and Tommen individually. Periodically, Tommen would look back at Stafford looking for approval. Stafford nodded back at him as he assumed his position at the feast table. After that Robb Stark escorted his sister, Myrcella to the feast. His sister, had hear golden hair in curls underneath a green jeweled net. She was as timid and shy as ever judging by the looks she gave Robb Stark.

Then, the royal princes would come and Stafford escorted Arya towards the table. Stafford could tell she wasn't used to these kind of events. Stafford loved feasts, because it gave him the opportunity to socialize and eat and drink aplenty. The royal prince took his seat next to his father and Arya sat beside him. Stafford watched Joffrey enter with Sansa, who looked as graceful and radiant as the first time he saw her. She walked with his older brother, Joffrey. Stafford spared him of hatred, but he certainly felt no live between them either. From his youngest days, Joffrey was born to be a person who gets everything they want. Or he thought he was anyways. The whole notion of hard work seems to confound him. He was born looking down on everyone else. Stafford was bemused. Those who live in house of glass shouldn't be throwing bricks.

Stafford respected Joffrey as much as Joffrey respected everybody other than, well, Joffrey. Needless to say, the feeling was mutual. As he watched Sansa hold his hand tight while he escorted her to her seat of honor, with true "love" in her eyes, Stafford knew she deserved someone better than him. And somebody with a look of love in their eyes when they addressed Joffrey clearly didn't know him. With a shrug, Stafford quickly took a seat and beckoned one of the servants to give him a flagon. He was ready to unwind after such a long journey.

After the Stafford and the others got settled, he quickly turned his attention to the arrival of his uncles. The Lion and the Imp; there was no mistaking which was which. Ser Jaime Lannister, or Uncle Jaime was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered "Kingslayer" behind his back. Stafford seemed rather indifferent towards him, not really spending much time with him. He knew he had the skill in combat and the charm outside of it as well. Ser Barristan had always talked about his skill in combat, and how Stafford's combat style is a stark contrast to Jaime's. Stafford focus more on getting close and physical with his opponents, looking for the quick finish, due to his average at best stamina. Jaimie technically dissected opponents and wore them out with his superior stamina and technique. The last time Stafford had engaged in a sparring matches with his uncle, he had been left bruised, winded and most of all drained of pride. Stafford had landed a good few blows on Jaime and it wasn't exactly total domination, but Stafford relished the opportunity to spar and beat his uncle in the sparring ring.

His uncle Tyrion was a different story however. All that the gods had given to his mother and uncle they had denied Tyrion. He was a dwarf, half his brother's height, struggling to keep pace on stunted legs. His head was too large for his body, with a brute's squashed-in face beneath a swollen shelf of brow. One green eye and one black one peered out from under a lank fall of hair so blond it seemed white. Stafford knew his uncle was wise however, and he knew quite a lot of things about quite a lot of topics. Stafford knew he would never be as intelligent or as wise as his uncle, but that's why the gods gave him skill with the axe to make up for it.

The other two Lords that accompanied his uncles, Stafford did not recognize. One of the them looked like Lord Eddard Stark. The other one looked foreign to Stafford, he did not look like he was of the north, but maybe if he was right he could be of the iron islands. He just has a feeling the boy wasn't a Stark and if his guess was right he was a Greyjoy. He just didn't know what to think about it.

As soon as the procession ended, they began to bring out the courses. Little in the life of a noble, Stafford observed, was ever as taken for granted as the food they eat everyday without a second thought. A bountiful feast of the finest mutton, beefs, and even porks were laid out before them. The summer wine felt good to the lips of Stafford. It warmed his belly as he set down the cup and began to eat his meal. He was so engrossed in his meal, he could not see the stares of all of the Starks, and even his mother until he looked up and around.

"Is your brother always this hungry?" Sansa asked Joffrey.

"My brother always acts this way when food is involved. Something _else_ he apparently inherited from father," Joffrey replied with a hint of disdain in his voice.

"What else are you supposed to do at a feast? Stare at the food? No, you keep feasting! They call it a _feast_ for a reason," Stafford replied after chewing and swallowing his food. He then continued to eat at a rapid pace, cleaning two plates in a relatively short amount of time. He had also drunk about ten cups of wine, as his father Robert didn't really care how much of that he drunk in the first place. Wine always seemed to soothe him, Ale did too.

"Can I ask you something?" someone asked as Stafford turned to see. He had zoned out after he had realized he had drunk a little too much summer wine. He saw that it was Arya, who looked at him with a certain mischievous curiosity. But under her steely gaze, he sensed an undercurrent of uncertainty lace her every gesture with him.

"I'm all yours," Stafford declared as he continued to pour himself some summer wine anyway.

"Are the rumors true..m-my prince? About the tournament during your brothers name day," Arya stammered nervously. Stafford knew his status always uneased many, even his fellow nobles, even if he didn't want them to be.

"Rumors about what in my dear brother's tournament?" Stafford replied after a quick swig of wine. He knew full well about what they were talking about, but he tried to buy some time to gather his thoughts about it.

"You know, about how you killed one of Walder Frey's baseborn children during the melee," She responded. He knew of it well almost too well. The Melee had gone down to the final four participants, and the crowd was already in shock when he had defeated Lord Yohn Royce in his preliminary melee. Stafford had just impressed them with his skill with the axe, and surpassed even the most lofty expectations of his performances. This melee was the only melee some people would consider major for Stafford, but he believed there were much better combatants testing their mettle in the joust, so Stafford believed it to only be a minor melee. He ended up killing one of the contestants, which happened to be one of Walder Frey's bastards. He yielded to Thoros of Myr afterwards with guilt and shame, a champion must not kill to achieve victory.

"I cannot deny that I did this, but it was not for the reason that you might think. I did not do it out of spite, like some people thought I had done," Stafford explained.

"Then why did you do it, my prince?" Arya asked him.

"Please, call me Stafford. There's no need to have such formalities, as I would like to spare you any discomfort We'll be getting to know each other in the coming days, after all," Stafford replied, "Anyway, the melee was more complicated than most imagine it happened, so to clear any misunderstanding, let me tell you exactly how it happened.

 _Flashback_

 _Stafford felt like his body was made of lead. Lord Yohn Royce had put up a fight, one that drained him of stamina. He tried his hardest to keep himself up, but his foes had effectively worn away most of his protective measures. His axe arm had felt like wet parchment, and all of the opponents he made yield had taken a toll on his body. He had one more fight to go, one more chance to prove himself in a tournament. Although, many people were here for the joust and other more formidable combatants didn't attend the melee, Stafford knew this was his chance to make his mark and cement himself as a true warrior._

" _Are you ready, Stafford?" Ser Barristan told him as he continued to fasten some replacement gauntlets onto his hands._

" _As ready as I'll ever be," Stafford replied with a grin. Stafford kept his chin up and Ser Barristan gave him a nod._

" _Remember there are four opponents ahead of you. Your goal is to make life a living hell for them, use the techniques I taught you, and try not lose your head," Ser Barristan told him. Stafford rose from his seat and began to make his way to the melee grounds. Before then he was interrupted by someone._

" _Quite a show you gave them, nephew. Ser Barristan appears to have taught you well," the voice praised. He turned around and saw his uncle, Renly Baratheon, dressed in green steel plate outlined and edged in gold. Renly had been the youngest of the Baratheons. Renly reminded him of himself, and some even commented on how Renly looked more like him than his actual father. There were also strange rumors going around that he was actually Renly's son, and although that did not infuriate him it infuriated his father for some reason. Stafford had always liked Renly and both of them got along well. They acted like one another. Every time Stafford went to Storm's End, he always enjoyed it there. Especially when he and Edric Storm, his half brother would spar. Stafford always ended up beating him, but he was much more delightful to spend time with than Joffrey and he didn't whine when he lost to him like Joffrey did._

" _Thank you, when I fight I make sure I fight well, so as not to make an ass of myself in front of the lords._

" _Indeed, well good luck, I'll be watching with your parents, and of course our dear Joffrey," he replied sarcastically. Stafford nodded and went on his way._

 _The organizers of the melee had introduced his opponents when he had arrived. They introduced Stafford to the people, but by then people had already known who he was. His opponents were Thoros of Myr, Patrek Mallister, and one of the many bastards of Walder Frey. Only a boy of fifteen, he was the youngest competitor of the melee. Many didn't expect him to get out of the preliminary round, but his heart, courage and skill had proved those people wrong. After he had been introduced, the combatants got into position. Stafford drew his two handed battleaxe and kept his hand axe at the ready. The Axe he used was a special variation of his normal battle axe Storm's Edge. Instead of having an extra sharp edge, it was specially blunted to deal as much power as Storm's Edge usually does without killing his opponents. Little did he know, that this very axe would fail in that specific purpose_

" _Combatants, begin!" as soon as those words were uttered, Stafford charged at Thoros of Myr. He had his flaming sword to intimidate his opponents, but Stafford was having none of that today. Thoros came up to him and swung his sword which, Stafford easily parried with the edge of his axe. He then followed the advice of his other mentor Sandor, and followed with a savage shaft strike to the face. Thoros got knocked off balanced and suddenly disengaged him._

 _Suddenly from behind, he felt a sword hit him from the back. When he turned, he saw Patrick Mallister ready to engage him. Patrick tried his hardest, following up with rapid strikes of a two-handed, blunt melee sword, but he ended up failing miserably as Stafford ducked, dodged, and strongly parried all of the blows. Patrick had made a crucial mistake in his attack, he had left himself wide open during his wide, arcing swings and prey for Stafford's close range axemanship. Stafford realizing how open he was to the attacks, jabbed his axe into Patrick's gut area, causing him to stumble backward. As he regained his balance, Stafford winded up and landed a strike square in the neck area of Patrick. If this had been a real fight with Storm Edge, Patrick Mallister would be on the ground headless. Instead it knocked him to the ground, and he raised his axe._

" _I yield!" Patrick screamed as he began to cover his face. Stafford stopped just in time before he brought the axe down. Several attendants went up and retrieved Patrick as Stafford turned his attention to the two other combatants. Thoros busy fighting Walder Frey's bastard didn't see him defeat Patrick Mallister. Walder Frey's bastard did however, and quickly turned his attention to Stafford. Thoros, surprised, did the same._

 _Suddenly, the two stopped fighting and stared at each other. Thoros nodded and the both began to attack Stafford simultaneously. Stafford surprised that the two had started teaming on him, began to find creative ways to deflect blows from his battle axe. However, the blows just came too fast and when he tried a retaliatory strike toward Thoros, he was able to parry it and land a square blow to Stafford's main power axe hand. The blow was so hard, he let go of axe, and his arm felt like he was about to lose it. Walder Frey's Bastard also took his time to hit his chest, which knocked the wind out of him. Stafford, winded and disarmed, quickly pulled out his one handed hand axe as a last resort. Thoros and the other combatant getting reckless charged in without guarding themselves, opened themselves up for a close range attack. Stafford targeted Walder Frey's Bastard, which he sooner came to regret, and gave him a full frontal barrage of axe. The man tried desperately to fight it off, but he landed a blow to his abdomen thrice causing him to get on his knees. Thoros tried to save him by lunging at Stafford with his sword, but Stafford saw it and he slide tackled him knocking Thoros to the ground. Surprised at how he suddenly got the advantage after being on the receiving end of a tag team beatdown, Stafford quickly saw it an opportunity to make the Frey boy yield. He raised his hand axe with all the destructive force of a charging stag, and lowered it. Had he noticed the Frey bastards helmet was off he would have taken a little bit out of the strike. He did not and when his axe made contact with the head, it cracked the skull of the Frey boy sending him dead on the ground. Stafford stunned grounded his axe and yielded. He didn't want to be known as the champion, who killed to gain his title._

"And that's how it happened," Stafford concluded. He remembered that day. He was ashamed not because he was dominated and utterly embarrassed by the competition, but because he was ashamed of having killed. He had been a couple, about ten months younger than his brother.

"Do you regret killing him?" Arya pressed him.

"I barely knew him, I doesn't mean I didn't regret killing him. I didn't plan or want to do that," Stafford stated. Stafford relaxed a little and turned to finish more of his meal. While doing so he still felt her curious gaze. He gulped down the last of his food and turned to her.

"I'm surprised you're interested in tournaments. Most ladies I've encountered bore of such topics," Stafford declared before finishing off his fifteenth wine cup. He was starting to feel a little dizzy, he hadn't drunk this much wine in a while. Stafford tolerated more than others though, he didn't get as drunk as his father with just a tiny amount of summer wine.

"I'm not like those others, Stafford," Arya stated. This girl surprised Stafford more than ever.

"Then what are you interested in my lady?" Stafford asked.

"Many things that would certainly bore my sister and other ladies like her. Horseback riding, swordplay, and the like," Arya stated.

"Swordplay, do you know how to wield sword? It's not like I like swords anyway," Stafford said a little upset as he tried to pour more flagon for himself, but found it was empty. He hated swords, it required to much speed and stamina in wielding, two things he didn't like to use in combat.

"You stick em with the pointy end," she stated. It was at this moment Stafford burst out laughing. Joffrey and Sansa turned to him as well as Robb and Stafford's other siblings.

"You alright there Prince Stafford?" Robb asked.

"Yes, I'm alright. Anyway Arya, you don't cease to amaze me. It is not often I have such a good time with highborn ladies like yourself. You're different from all of them," Stafford declared.

"Have met a lot of them? And how am I different from all of them?" Arya asked.

"Most of them are dreadfully boring and some are basically there to try to secure an inheritance through me. None of them have quite been as interesting as you," Stafford reasoned.

"Interesting," she repeated.

"Indeed, I never knew anyone would be interested in the same things you are. Much less a highborn lady," Stafford stated, "You really are something. I'm sure you'll find someone to be your companion. Someone who fill truly love and cherish you, it seems as though it won't be hard to do so." Little did she know it might be Stafford who might need to deliever this. Stafford hated betrothal, he didn't know what Arya thought of him and he barely knew her as of now. King Robert had put him in an awkward position.

"I don't want to get married," she stated bluntly as she slouched down on the table.

"Have you ever been in love?" Stafford asked. She just replied shaking her head no. Stafford sighed a little.

"You have, just think about your family. You would risk everything to protect them right. You would risk your life to save theirs. You feel as though they are more important to you than your own well being. Now imagine that but to a greater extent. Life would cease to be the same if they were taken from you. You would do anything to be what they want. Your no longer the center of the world, they are," Stafford explained. Stafford had never actually been in love before, he has been attracted and infatuated by some ladies before, but none of them were truly love. He thought he was too young for that.

Then he heard something from where Joffrey was, something about him.

"During the hunt I gutted the animal with a small knife, unlike my brother, who had to use an axe to kills his. Did I ever tell you about how he was beaten handily by my swordsmanship at my nameday," he boasted. Rage entered Stafford's veins. He was not going to let his lies taint his reputation. It was clear the ladies including Sansa believed him.

"Hold on a moment, I have to deal with a rat," Stafford declared. Stafford immediatly approached Joffrey almost about reach for his hand axe.

"Oh, brother we were just talking about you," Joffrey stated with the slight nervousness on his face.

"What's this about you besting me in one on one combat? Last I checked you weren't in the melee and your name wasn't Thoros," Stafford snarled.

"Well...don't believe him ladies he is still not quite over the time I bested him during the tournament," he trumphantly stated with feign pride in his eyes. The ladies including Sansa giggled. That was the last straw. Immediately, Stafford lost it and sent a sharp left hook into the chin of Joffrey sending him falling to the ground. The entire feast went silent after that.

"Whats the matter can't take a punch legendary swordsman?" Stafford taunted. Joffrey got up slowly trying to regain his pride. He tried to jab at him with his right fist, but Stafford deflected it and punched him right in the gut grounding him again.

"Enough!" he heard his mother scream as she intervened for her poor prince. Robert got up and tried to assess the situation.

"Alright, you two what happened this time?" Robert managed to sigh.

"Stafford struck me for no reason!" Joffrey accused him.

"Well spreading lies about me seems like a perfectly fine reason!"

"Liar!" Joffrey stated.

"Enough you two, I will not have a good feast ruined like this. Stafford, Joffrey return to your seats and refrain from attacking one another. Another incident and I'll have you escorted out of the feast," Robert declared. Stafford nodded in agreement and Joffrey with scorn returned to his seat. Their mother checked on both of them, but mostly Joffrey and returned to her seat.

The feast went on for a couple more hours. They had continued about various topics like Storm's Edge, which he still wore into the feast. Soon it got late and Robb, Stafford, and Arya went outside for a bit.

"Well its been fun, I had little too much to drink, but I really enjoyed my time with you,"

"We'll talk again on the morrow right?" she asked.

"Of course, what ever you want," Stafford stated as he began to walk to where he would be staying in Winterfell tonight. He looked back at Arya, and wondered how they would fare in the future.


	3. AGOT Arya I

**A/N: This chapter will be the first of the chapters in which the lead POV is not Stafford. This was supposed to go up Friday as part of the special double upload on that day, but we decided against it to polish the story a bit more. Friday is also the day I post two chapters instead of one to try to get you guys more content before the weekend. The first part of the Chapter has parts heavily borrowed from the book, the second part has much less of that, so be aware. I only post Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Thank you all the support and I'd like to thank my editor and collaborator DeusVultInf1del. I kinda wanted to put Arya's relationship with Stafford kind of like how her relationship was with Gendry in the show. Arya has a slight crush on him, but she is not head over heels in love with him. I tried writing that, but I am not a eleven year old girl, so I would not know what her perspective on this is. Please give me feedback on how well I did.**

 **mpowers25: I wish I could do that, but I don't think either of their characters would allow for that situation to happen. Good suggestion though.**

 **birdy: As I had posted above, I update a chapter only Mondays, Wednesday, and Friday (2ch). I will try to update using this schedule to give people more consistency.**

 **And also please try to vote on my profile on who will be paired with Stafford. Please vote on it, so I can get your guy's opinions as I am still undecided. Also for those who watch the TV series and would like to see what Stafford would look like if he was on the television series or had an actor portraying him, there is a link to a picture in my profile.**

 **Anyway enjoy!**

 _Arya_

Arya's stitches were crooked again. She frowned down at them with dismay and glanced over to where her sister Sansa sat among the other girls. Sansa's needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. "Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands." When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed. "Arya has the hands of a blacksmith."

She studied her own work again, looking for some way to salvage it, then sighed and put down the needle. She looked glumly at her sister. Sansa was chatting away happily as she worked. Beth Cassel, Ser Rodrik's little girl, was sitting by her feet, listening to every word she said, and Jeyne Poole was leaning over to whisper something in her ear.

"What are you talking about?" Arya asked suddenly. Jeyne gave her a startled look, then giggled. Sansa looked abashed. Beth blushed. No one answered.

"Tell me," Arya asked suddenly.

"We're talking about the prince," Sansa said her voice soft as a kiss. There were two princes, but Arya clearly knew she was talking about Joffrey not Stafford. Arya had to sit with him during the feast and contrary to what she thought the prince would be like, he actually seemed hospitable. Of course he had a short temper after he struck down his own brother during the feast. Joffrey seemed like he was asking for it though.

"Joffrey likes your sister," Jeyne whispered, proud as if she had something to do with it. She was the daughter of Winterfell's steward and Sansa's dearest friend. "He told her she was very beautiful."

"He's going to marry her," little Beth said dreamily, hugging herself. "Then Sansa will be queen of all the realm." Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with dull resentment.

"Beth, you shouldn't make up stories," Sansa corrected them, "What do you think of the prince? He's very gallant, don't you think?" Gallant enough to get knocked down after single blow.

"Stafford and Jon both told me he hit and looked like a little girl," Arya stated. Sansa sighed while she stitched.

"Poor Jon, he gets jealous, because he's a bastard. As for his brother he seemed like he didn't get along well," she stated. Arya didn't know how to feel about Stafford, but he seemed nice to her. Nicer than Joffrey or Sansa for that matter.

"Stafford's charming too, but not as charming as the prince in my opinion. He looks too much like his father and doesn't have that individuality to him you know? Plus, he's got that temper of his too,"

"At least Stafford's genuine, and doesn't try to charm maidens with tall tales of his chivalry. And Sansa, Jon's our brother," Arya said, much too loudly. Her voice cut through the afternoon quiet of the tower Room.

Septa Mordane raised her eyes. She had a bony face, sharp eyes, and a thin lipless mouth made for frowning. "What are you talking about, children?"  
"Our half brother," Sansa corrected, soft and precise. She smiled for the septa. "Arya and I were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess with us today," she said. Septa Mordane nodded.  
"Arya, why aren't you at work?" the septa asked. She rose to her feet, starched skirts rustling as she started across the room. "Let me see your stitches."

The septa examined the fabric. "Arya, Arya, Arya," she said. "This will not do. This will not do at all."  
Everyone was looking at her. It was too much. Sansa was too well bred to smile at her sister's disgrace, but Jeyne was smirking on her behalf. Even Princess Myrcella looked sorry for her. Arya felt tears filling her eyes. She pushed herself out of her chair and bolted for the door. She didn't even wait for what Septa Mordane would say.

It wasn't fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful.

Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures.

Arya thought about how similar the situation Stafford seemed to be in. He was the only one of his highborn siblings that took after King Robert. Many believed Stafford to look more Baratheon especially with his black hair and broad shoulders. He did have an uncanny resemblance to his father. They shared that with one another, they were both the ones, who inherited their father's looks. But everyone agreed that Stafford was charming and handsome in his own way. The girls in Winterfell actually debated, who looked better him or Joffrey, but with her and Sansa, Arya felt like everyone universally thought Sansa looked prettier than her.

Nymeria was waiting for her in the guardroom at the base of the stairs. She bounded to her feet as soon as she caught sight of Arya. Arya grinned. The wolf pup loved her, even if no one else did.

She had a better notion. The boys were at practice in the yard. She wanted to see Robb put gallant Prince Joffrey flat on his back. "Come," she whispered to Nymeria. She got up and ran, the wolf coming hard at her heels.

Arya's steps fell on the hard stone floors lightly as droplets of rain, with her cheerful pup bounding after her, the size of an overgrown northern wolf despite being barely a few months old. She strode down one of the many spiral staircases of Winterfell. After a few flights of stairs and increasingly sore feet, her mind was racing, filled with a strange hybrid of anticipation and dread.

Whenever she was around Stafford, she felt like she was falling and flying at the same time. But something kept her from truly knowing what she was feeling. She just knew that she felt it, and whatever she felt was was the strongest she's ever had. Nevermind, she argued. A bond with Stafford filled with such confusing feelings was the last thing she wanted. But the more she thought of him, the more she questioned the strength of such a conviction.

Arya, however, was so deep in thought that the stony corridors and long, winding stairways she ran blurred into nothing, leaving her with only the freshest memory of marching through the high, arched doors of the great hall and into the wintery chill of the courtyard.

As she surveyed the grand training yard, she noticed her two brothers Robb and Jon standing side by side, arms crossed. Dressed in white gambesons with the grey direwolf of Stark sewn over their breasts, they were taking in the two best things Arya Stark witnessed all day: Stafford and Stafford beating down his brother Joffrey. Stafford had landed a clean blows on his brother, while Joffrey had not even so much as hit him.

Jon gave her a curious look. "Shouldn't you be working on your stitches, little sister?" Arya made a face at him.

"I wanted to see them fight."

He smiled. "Come here, then. Stafford has been beating down his brother pretty badly."

Stafford had his axe, clearly a training axe brandished in front of him. Joffrey with some confidence began trying to land strikes on his own brother. Stafford dissected Joffrey's timing of blows, foretelling his already predictable and mediocre style, deflecting all of them. Arya, impressed with the skill with an axe, began to reason that it seemed impossible for Joffrey to best Stafford in the way he had described to the other girls last night. Another reason why she seemed to hate Joffrey's guts. Arya noticed their form too, Stafford had a rough stance, almost like he was about to take someone down using wrestling moves. He had his axe high enough to deflect blows, but low enough that it isn't interfering with his vision. Joffrey had no stance, he just tried to flail around and hit his opponents. Joffrey, who seem enraged by this, continued pressing forward to get a reaction from Stafford, but Stafford easily deflected his blows. Arya sensed Stafford grew tired of the combat, and he quickly pushed the aggression. The fight didn't last as long anymore, Stafford quickly disarmed his brother with the beard of his axe as he desperately tried to block a hit. Then, Stafford brutally landed a hit to Joffrey's side.

"Ahhh!" Joffrey yelled as he kneeled before Stafford. Stafford with good smile, delivered swift another blow to his shoulder.

"You sure bested me, brother. Maybe I should call for Lady Sansa to show her of your skill in battle?" Stafford taunted. The Starks laughed while some of the Lannisters and Baratheons went silent. Arya blinked at the amount of skill difference between them in combat. Stafford clearly had more technique and experience. His brother seemed like an overgrown boy in the courtyard.

"Watch it there, brother. You're speaking to your future king!" Joffrey spat as he tried to prop himself up holding his now wounded shoulder.

"Breathe now, brother. Don't get all worked up. You better embrace the fact my long massive axe will keep you grounded, king," Stafford stated. Stafford turned around and spotted Arya. He waved at her with a smile. Arya waved back, but noticed his brother get up and try to strike him from behind. Stafford, somehow noticed this and turned around just in time. He caught Joffrey's sword arm in mid-air and kneed his chest hard causing him to fall to ground once more. So much for the gallant Prince Joffrey.

"I tire of beating on my brother. Robb, want to go a round?" Stafford asked as people helped Joffrey off of the the courtyard. Robb in a daze nodded and faced Stafford for a match. Now, this looked like a good match up for Arya. Robb is remarkable with the sword and Stafford with an axe, and it seemed it was time to see if the age old combat testament was correct. It was time to see if a sword really cannot beat an axe.

The two nodded and began to stalk one another in the middle of the courtyard. Robb pressed the fight first using his skill with the sword and what looked like his superior speed on Stafford. Arya noticed that each of Robb's strikes were leaving Stafford flat footed in its wake. The way Stafford moved seemed different, like he wasn't used to fighting swordsman of this speed. It wasn't like Joffrey where he cleanly deflected all of his blows without much trouble. Now there was actually some resistance in Arya's mind. Arya could still see Stafford calm and in control, though. It seems Stafford was playing some strategy, most likely trying to wear down Stafford. Robb continued on the attack still driving Stafford back with his axe. Arya seemed impressed with Robb's skill, but somehow he had still not landed a blow on Stafford.

"Our brother is doing well isn't he?" Arya asked her half brother Jon

"He is, but Stafford was doing the same thing to Joffrey. Robb has just gotten much closer to actually hitting him than Joffrey was," Jon replied, "It's part of his strategy, watch." Sure enough Jon seemed like he was right.

As soon as Robb started to lose speed, Stafford began to hit Robb. They began to trade blows as each blow hit each other's armor. They were all minor blows, but Stafford seemed to handle them better than Robb, as Stafford had now regained ground and had Robb cornered. With a last stand, Robb tried to deal a barrage of blows with his sword using different over hand, under hand and even straight, but now Stafford had full control of the sparring match. Robb made one last slash at Stafford, but it seemed Stafford had expected it. Stafford caught the blade with the beard of his axe and disarmed Robb with it. Stafford then hit Robb with a flurry of blows to the torso and the legs. Arya thought Stafford had a side to him that was ruthless. Whoever trained him, must have been. Robb went down to a knee and yielded the round.

"Well fought," Stafford stated as extended a hand to Robb. Arya felt Stafford had more trouble defeating her brother than Joffrey, but Stafford didn't look winded even after the round with Robb.

"You see Prince Joffrey?" Jon asked. He hadn't noticed where Joffrey went to after he got absolutely devastated by his brother, He was surrounded by men she did not recognize, young squires in the livery of Lannister and Baratheon, strangers all. There were a few older men among them; knights, she surmised.

Arya looked. An ornate shield had been embroidered on the prince's padded surcoat. No doubt the needlework was exquisite. The arms were divided down the middle; on one side was the crowned stag of the royal House, on the other the lion of Lannister. Stafford's surcoat seamed divided too. Although Stafford wasn't wearing full plate, his shoulders had plate on them and one each side of the plate there were pictures of the sigil of House Baratheon and Lannister.

"And of course, you've seen Prince Stafford's half plate sparring armor, because you've been staring at him during the entire sparring session," Jon stated making Arya feel a little embarrassed.

"I have not!" Arya protested.

"The Lannisters are proud," Jon observed. "You'd think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. They both make make their mother's House equal in honor to the king's."

"The woman is important too!" Arya protested.

Jon chuckled. "Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms."

"A wolf with a fish in its mouth?" It made her laugh.

"That would look silly. Besides, if a girl can't fight, why should she have a coat of arms?"

Jon shrugged. "Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister."

While they had been talking, Stafford and Robb had another sparring match. From the glimpses Arya had seen, it seemed Stafford took full control early this time and Robb had been swatted with a barrage of axe blows. Stafford had been the only person Arya had seen fight with an axe. The axe he had seemed like it was a hand axe. He clearly could have also thrown it instead of using it as a swinging weapon. After a few moments, Robb had been grounded once more and yielded.

"An interesting battle, but it seems Stafford's skill with an axe wasn't exaggerated at all," Jon stated as Arya nodded in reply

"Enough! Prince Stafford, why don't you take a breather?" Ser Rodrik called out, "Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go a round?"

"Gladly," Robb stated although he looked winded to Arya.

"This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik." Joffrey arrogantly proclaimed.

Theon Greyjoy gave a sudden bark of laughter. "You are children," he said derisively.

"Robb may be a child," Joffrey said. "I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword."

"A Prince who can't even beat his younger brother in a sparring match," Stafford stated. About half of the onlookers began to burst into laughter.

"Without an axe you are nothing, brother!" Joffrey spat back.

"I can beat you with a sword, a spear, hell even unarmed," Stafford retorted. The Baratheon's and Lannister's eagerly awaited each retort, like they were used to enjoying the arguments between Stafford and Joffrey.

"Are you afraid?" Robb asked.

Prince Joffrey looked at him. "Oh, terrified," he said. "You're so much older." Some of the Lannister men laughed. Jon looked down on the scene with a frown.

"Joffrey is truly a little shit," he told Arya. Ser Rodrik tugged thoughtfully at his white whiskers. "What are you suggesting?" he asked the prince.

"Live steel." The prince suggested with fury in his eyes.

"Done," Robb shot back. "You'll be sorry!" The master-at-arms put a hand on Robb's shoulder to quiet him.

"Live steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords, with blunted edges." Ser Rodrik told him.

"Let him have it. I actually would like to see where this is going," Stafford suggested. Ser Rodrik shot him a look.

"Prince Stafford, we cannot allow for us to risk the safety of your brother and Lord Stark's son," Ser Rodrik retorted. Stafford looked disappointed. He crossed his arms and let out what looked like a sigh.

Joffrey said nothing, but a man strange to Arya, a tall knight with black hair and burn scars on his face, pushed forward in front of the prince. "This is your prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, ser?"

"Master-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it."

"Are you training women here?" the burned man wanted to know. He was muscled like a bull.

"Sandor, Ser Rodrik has spoken and as much as we both want to see them fight with live steel, I don't think we're see it happen," Stafford stated.

"Stafford, how old are you?" the burned man asked.

"Fifteen," he replied.

"And you, boy?" the man turned and asked Robb.

"Sixteen," Robb stated.

"I killed a man, at twelve. Hell, Stafford here killed a man at the prince's nameday," the burned man boasted. Robb, seemed like he had his pride wounded from the statements.

"Let me do it, I can beat him," Robb told Ser Rodrik. Stafford looked at him. Arya didn't know whether Stafford was as twisted as the burned man, or really wanted for Robb to regain his pride by trying to convince Ser Rodrik to let them use live steel.

"Then do it with a tourney blade, then," Ser Rodrik.

Joffrey shrugged. "Come and see me when you're older, Stark. If you're not too old." There was laughter from the Lannister men. Robb's curses rang through the yard. Arya covered her mouth in shock. Theon Greyjoy seized Robb's arm to keep him away from the prince. Stafford looked like he was about to assault his own brother, but he seems to have kept back. Arya couldn't understand why he could defend himself in the feast, but not defend anyone else.

""Come, Tommen," he said. "The hour of play is done. Leave the children to their frolics."

"But, I want to stay and train with Stafford, he wanted to show me some new moves today,"

"I said _come_ Tommen," Joffrey commanded sharply. That brought more laughter from the Lannisters, more curses from Robb. Ser Rodrik's face was beet-red with fury under the white of his whiskers. Theon kept Robb locked in an iron grip until the princes and their party were safely away. Stafford began to shake his head and approached Ser Rodrik. When the princes were away, Ser Rodrik calmed down as Stafford said some words to him.

"Stafford's different from his brother, he's definitely boisterous and quick tempered, but at least he's nice and not a prick about things," Jon stated.

And then almost unexpectedly Stafford went towards her and Jon. Arya tensed a biit, but calmed down as he approached.

"Excuse my brother, he isn't exactly the most pleasant person to be around," Stafford stated.

"I can tell why. Anyway do you need anything, Prince Stafford?" Jon asked.

"If don't mind call me, Stafford. I bore of titles," Stafford replied. Jon nodded.

"I'm guessing it's over then?" Jon asked.

"Yes, my brother has grown tired of fighting, as per usual," Stafford stated and immediately turned to Arya, "I didn't expect for you to be watching the sparring. Not many ladies in King's Landing do that. Too busy knitting and talking to care about combat training." She should have been stitching and Stafford seemed right about that. She just didn't want to. She preferred watching combat, and was even open to participating in it.

"She should be keeping up with her stitching," Jon said.

Arya didn't think it was funny. "I hate needlework!" she said with passion. "It's not fair!"

"Nothing in life is fair," Jon explained.

"He's right, Arya. Just take a look at me, I have to deal with a brother, who hates my very guts and grows fond of spreading lies about me. I didn't ask for it, I just got it," Stafford declared. Jon began to walk away along with his direwolf pup. Nymeria followed, but went back towards Arya when she noticed she wasn't coming.

"She's yours correct?" Stafford asked.

"Yes, her name's Nymeria,"

"After the Queen of Rhoyne? Interesting, I wish I had a wolf like that. Wonder how Joffrey would react to it," Stafford mused. Arya laughed a little, but she didn't really know why she did.

"Well, best be on my way, mother will be looking for me after her dear prince will surely tell of the tales of my brutality in the courtyard today. I'll talk to you later," Stafford stated as he began to walk away.

Reluctantly she turned in the other direction. She wondered what was going to wait for her in her room.. It wasn't Septa Mordane waiting in her room. It was Septa Mordane and her mother.


	4. AGOT Robb I

**A/N: This chapter will be the second straight non-Stafford POV in the story. I promise the next chapter will be in his POV, but I wanted to take the creative liberty of writing from Robb Stark's POV. This chapter takes place during the hunting trip, before the day Bran becomes a cripple. I was debating with my collaborator on whether Bran should stay a cripple and we decided to obey the laws of cannon on this one. And for everyone who thinks Stafford has become an unbeatable combat presence, he is about to face an opponent, who will literally wipe the floor with him. And for those inquiring about Stafford's pairing, please vote on the poll in my profile to make your voice heard.**

 **Desdelor97: Thank you for the review. I try to make chapters of high quality.**

 **Mcveighreece: We're still considering on all the possibilities, but thank you for the feedback and I hope you enjoy.**

 **SeEGuLL: Thank you as stated above we are trying to weigh all the possibilities and for all inquiring about the Pairings must vote on the poll, because it will affect who Stafford is paired with in the end based on the result in a major way.**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Robb_

Robb had never been hunting with the King before in his sixteen years. They rode out at dawn leaving the castle behind, venturing into the wolfswood, because the King wanted wild boar. Joffrey had been allowed to go with them, which distressed him a little bit. Robb despised Joffrey after how he acted during their sparring session yesterday. Joffrey was so full of shit that you could fit 50 acres of deep forest into his asshole and witness nothing beyond an occasional moan of pleasure. It astounded Robb how Joffrey attempted to deride and mock his brother Stafford, who beat down the child that would be king so hard that even Jaime Lannister would wept at the sight. Of course, he also lost a fair share of matches to Joffrey's brother Stafford, but he was a worthy and admirable foe, as supposed to absolutely crushing him beneath his heel. Whatever Sansa saw in that pathetic, pompous weakling was beyond his comprehension.

Luckily, Stafford came along too, which gave Robb a little comfort. Stafford was only barely a year younger than him, and despite his boisterousness and aggression, was someone Robb could imagine becoming friends with anybody. Certainly more than Joffrey.

They had been hunting for quite some time now. The midday sun hung over their heads as supposed to the low early morning sun from earlier. Stafford had defeated more than a few charging boar earlier with his long-hafted axe, much to the pleasure of his father, and to the jealousy of his brother. Stafford also defeated a few Elk, and even a Stag of all things. Robb had struck down 6 dear as well, stalking them for a few minutes before leaping out into the clearing and with a single elegant maneuver, hamstring the deer's hind legs and slit its throat with a sidestep. Joffrey, using a crossbow, shot down a few birds, a couple of deer, and even a moose with a direct headshot. King Robert laughed with every instant death from the crossbow, but the distressed undertones of his quieting voice and hollow laughter betrayed a deep dissatisfaction in Joffrey. With every steadily less happy bark, the sentiment grew more obvious, and so did the tension of the group, subtly yet unbearably nonetheless.

Considering the instability it betrayed in the royal family, a minor incident usually seen as amusing became a whole lot darker. Stafford attempted to banter with his brother, but no matter what he tried to discuss, Joffrey was visibly disgusted by the conversation and Stafford. Joffrey then started insulting Stafford's age or something, he didn't quite catch most of it. Whatever it was, it was terrible enough to lead to a minor bout of fisticuffs. Before the incident could have escalated to the point it had reached during the feast, Theon Greyjoy had broken it up. These "brothers" fought more than the Tyrells and Martells. Stafford was kind, but his lack of wisdom led to a sense of close mindedness that Stafford failed to acknowledge. Combined with his more emotional and hot blooded inclination, it was easy to see how such immaturity would end most confrontations in violence.

They had stopped for a brief rest before beginning the final stage of their hunt. They needed to be back to Winterfell before dusk even set in. Robb sat down on a broken tree stump as he was approached by Stafford.

"Enjoying yourself?" Stafford asked. Robb looked up at him. Stafford, although younger, than him stood at what he guessed was six feet two inches. He was taller than his older brother, who was probably about two inches shorter than him.

"Oh yes, Do you always go on hunts like this?" Robb replied.

"Of course, we are Baratheons after all. Ours is the hunt, and Ours is the Fury." Stafford chuckled warmly. Stafford leaned on his long broadaxe. The axe stood as tall as him, if not taller. Robb was surprised he could carry its heft at such a young age, but then he remembered how battleaxes and the like had to be lighter for combat, only the tree splitting ones required a heavy weight.

How was this grizzled bear of a man only a boy of fifteen? His maturity was lacking, but he has skills in combat certain people could only dream of in their lifetime. Stafford wasn't the greatest fighter he'd ever seen or heard of, but he never expected to find anyone this young bear such incredible skill and finesse in the art of war.

After a long silence, Robb spoke up, "So, I've how are getting along with Arya? I saw you talking to her at the feast. Hope she wasn't too much for you,"

"You're sister is different from all highborn girls I've talked to, that's for damn sure. She seems like she has no interest in anything involving traditional lady life. But that's part of what makes her intriguing in my opinion. She's unique and certainly isn't a handful like certain other ladies I've met," Stafford replied with a longing sigh. Robb, stunned by his answer, turned to him. He didn't realize there were princes in the realm that didn't care whether women fell into the standards set by the court. Joffrey and many other men certainly prefered those type of women in his opinion, but Stafford wasn't just any other man.

"You surprise me at every turn, Stafford," Robb stated. Stafford let out a smile.

"I try my best, Stark," he jested.

Suddenly, they heard a voice boom, "All right, let's get this final part of the hunt over with. Stafford got up, excused himself and went to his father. Robb saw Joffrey grumble as he got up from his seated position grabbing his crossbow. Even Robb had to admit that Joffrey was actually a pretty good shot with a crossbow able to hit birds while flying in the air and a charging moose with little effort or shock.

They continued hunting with nothing of note happening, but Stafford and his father killing a pack of wild boar together, Joffrey shooting down a few more birds to add duck for the feast tonight, Robb defeating some boars as well. As soon as the afternoon sun began to descend, King Robert decided to end the hunting party there. It was probably for the best as Robb was getting tired.

After they were about half-way through the Wolfswood, Robb began to hear multiple twigs and branches being snapped from behind him. The hunting party was organized in a way that they were now in a straight line, with Stafford and his father and Joffrey in the middle on their horses. Stafford's horse looked spectacular and so did Joffrey's. They looked like pure bred destriers, which were impractical and a costly investment in the woods if lost, but were still impressive warhorses nonetheless. Their father's warhorse was even more impressive in a way. It towered over the horses that the Stark's cavalry, the heaviest cavalry in all of the North had. A horse truly fit for a king in Robb's opinion. Theon and the other Stark Knights led the way as the Lannisters were lagging behind in the back. Lord Eddard Stark headed the party as he knew the Wolfswood better than anyone else.

Robb's head jerked to the sound of something rush Stafford's side in quicker than he could even blink. It was large and furry, and reeked of a day old carcass still caking its fur and bone-crushing teeth. Robb had his fears confirmed when he saw it's silhouette stand on its 2 massive legs and open its large jaws, a gaping maw that let out a deafening roar.

"Stafford! Bear to to your right!" Robb managed to shout as Bear had charged the horse. Spooked, the horse began to raise up. Stafford unable to control his horse and surprised by the bear, got bucked off of it and got sent to the ground as the horse galloped away. One of the Baratheon retainers followed after the horse, which Robb knew was a bad decision as he prioritized the horse over a now grounded Stafford.

Stafford quickly got up and tried to protect himself with his battleaxe. The bear lunged at him with 2 great paws, but he managed to roll, parry its strike and land a blow to its bare gut. This served to anger the bear as it swiped at him, standing up on its hind legs taller than even Robert Baratheon. This time however, Stafford got hit on right the right side of his now dented cuirass, and fell back to the ground a few feet away. Not wanting to stand by and watch Stafford get mauled by a bear, Robb charged at the bear, distracting it for Stafford.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stafford try to stagger up from his prone position. This bear could easily rip his head off and Robb proceeded with caution. Theon and the others eventually came in to help contain the bear situation. By the time they had surrounded the bear, Stafford had already hobbled up.

"Thank the Seven I wore plate today," Stafford muttered under his breath. Robb, surprised Stafford could still make jokes and japes after getting assaulted by a bear. The men took turns stabbing at bear, trying to poke it with swords to submission. Some brave people like Theon tried to kite it with multiple direct arrow shots, causing more to strike it from the distractions the arrows gave. Stafford was one of those brave people, and was one one of them that assaulted the bear. Stafford was also the one knocked down the most on his ass by the bear. No matter what skill you have in combat against another human being, nothing could prepare you for an animal about ten times heavier than the average human and a hell of a lot stronger in Robb's opinion. Stafford trained to fight humans with weapons, not giant bears, or any giant wildlife for that matter. One on one close range combat against a bear is suicide no matter what your skill in axe, sword or any weapon at all. Some are able to do it well, but those are usually combat hardened veterans and even then they barely escape alive.

The fighting against the bear continued with each of the men followed to take turns against the beast, The beast had gotten worn down as it was not as fearsome as it was against Stafford and his horse earlier. Stafford had taken most of the blows as he had the hardest job in the world. He had clearly been worn down by all the times the bear knocked him down. Robb saw the battered state of his armor. It looked like tin that had been beaten badly by the hammers and other types of instruments. His surcoat, now badly ripped from the claws that clipped his back side, now had the lion of Lannister cut in half and the Baratheon Stag's antler missing them. Robb noticed that there was a little claw on Stafford's face, which probably came from the bear.

Suddenly, two crossbow bolts came up and hit the bear in both the eyes. The blinded bear stuttered back, and Stafford took this opportunity to take advantage of the bears disadvantage. Stafford approached the blinded bear and landed a hit right at the nape of his opponent. Stafford and Stafford moved upsent his axe down executing the bear. The bears head separated from his body and Stafford winded quickly fell down to a knee.

"Wow, brother, if I wasn't there to shoot the bear, you probably would be dead," Joffrey stated with glee as he dismounted his horse. Stafford shot him a look, too tired to give out the proper reaction Stafford would have probably given to another 'smart' comment by Joffrey.

"You weren't the one distracting the damn thing," Stafford managed to gasp. His father put his hand on his shoulder.

"You fought well with what you were dealt, my boy. At least you didn't run like a coward," King Robert told his son. Stafford looked up and got up to his feet. Joffrey had the smile victory on his face like he had been the hero in all of this. Joffrey had given out the mortal blow, which blinded the bear giving Stafford enough time to kill the damn bear, but when Theon, Ser Rodrik, King Robert, his father, and the others in the hunting party were busy distracting and trying to defeat the bear, he sat on his horse and tried desperately to accurately deliver the crossbow bolts to end the bears existence,

"The bear beat me handily. If everyone wasn't here, I would have surely been mauled by it," Stafford conceded. Joffrey looked like he was having a kick out of his brother's pain began to laugh uncontrollably.

"Maybe if you were a better warrior, you could have prevented that from happening," Joffrey taunted Stafford. Robb saw the look of Stafford face. He was wounded and weary, but he could still see the fury in the eyes of Stafford. Stafford seemed like he wanted to turn in for the day.

"Maybe if you weren't such a little girl, you would have helped me fight the damn thing instead of sitting there on your high horse shooting a damn crossbow!" Stafford retorted getting up and approaching Joffrey. But before that could happen, Stafford grabbed at his side in pain. Robb assumed it was because of the blows he sustained from the bear.

"By the seven, will you two please stop bickering with one another!" Robert boomed, "Joffrey your brother almost got mauled by a damn bear and all you can do is taunt him. Stafford, you took some pretty bad hits from the bear and yet you still have the energy to fight with your own brother."

"Sir, we have retrieved Prince Stafford's horse," The Baratheon retainer, which had ran after the horse stated.

"Good! But next time try to protect Staff, instead of going after his horse for God's sake. The Prince's life is more important than a damned horse!" King Robert roared. Stafford sighed and began to walk towards the recently retrieved horse of his. Robb walked toward him and began to try to see how he was doing.

"You sure you're okay to ride after what just happened?" Robb asked him with a genuine concern. No one can just shrug off multiple knockdowns from a bear. Stafford kept up his composure, which surprised Robb even more. Not many people are able to remain cool and collected after almost getting mauled by a bear.

"My wounds and pride will recover from this. But I did kill the damned thing. Sure it was with help, but one thing's for certain, I don't want to see a live bear for a while," Stafford stated.

"Your grace, what should we do with the bear? It is far too large for us to carry the meat of," Robb's father asked.

"Take the head and give it to Stafford. He killed it, so it is only right he gets to keep the damn thing's head as a trophy," King Robert reason. Robbs father just nodded and approached Robb and Stafford.

"Here you are Prince Stafford, the bears head," His father stated. He handed him the bears head, with the crossbow bolts now taken out. It's jaws were wide open and Stafford looked at it intently.

The rest of the way back seemed much more silent the hunting party at dawn. There were hardly any jokes and japes and everyone was now wary as they continued out of the Wolfswood. Stafford, who usually japed, joked and talked quite a lot, lay silent clutching his sides as they continued on. Robb watched Joffrey, who grew tired of the endless terrain as the sun began to set. They had finally gotten to Winterfell on the brink of dusk. The Wolfswood had ended and they were finally in the safe castle walls of Winterfell. When they got in however, they were not accosted by the cheer the hunting party had been used to after they got there. Instead, they were accosted by silence and sad faces. As soon as they entered the keep, his mother had been waiting there, looking like she was about to burst into tears. His mother was not the sort to do this unless in warranted that. She was not an overdramatic woman.

Robb's father quickly caught onto this and quickly dismounted his horse and went to her. King Robert followed and so did Stafford, but his brother did not.

"What's wrong?" His father asked with the genuine worry in his eyes.

"It's Bran, h-he…" Robb's mother broke off. Then she suddenly burst into tears and couldn't continue her sentence. Suddenly, Robb noticed Stafford's uncle Tyrion approach.

"Your son, fell off one of the towers while climbing. Most unfortunate," His father and even King Robert and Stafford stood there with a look of shock on their faces.

"Are you certain of this?" His mother answered his father's question with a nod.


	5. AGOT Stafford III

**A/N: Sorry for the late update, I'll try not to post at eleven o'clock at night an hour before Wednesday ends. This is the promised Stafford POV chapter. Thank you all for the continued support and thank you for all the feedback. As always, I would like to remind you all of the poll about Stafford's pairing. Your vote will directly influence, who he will end up with, so please vote. Another thing, if you vote Barristan like two people have, the votes will just be reallocated to one of the two other choices at random. The next chapter will be on Friday as well as a surprise POV double upload chapter.** **Rakjo: Thank you always appreciate the compliments on the work.** **Enjoy!**

 _Stafford_

Of all the details Stafford Baratheon took note of that exhausting day, the lack of people dining in the Great hall of Winterfell troubled him the most. He had been used to the raucous crowds of tired men-at-arms, buxom serving wenches, and the quiet whispers of every man of the hall of reverting to a deafening scream. There was nothing he knew in a dinner that was more satisfying than to reap the harvests of a bountiful hunt, and no scent more alluring than venison roasted on a spit, spiced and marinated in the smoky-sweet sauces and dust of paprika, oregano, garlic and basil, no less than the finest in the 7 Kingdoms.

Those experiences from the fine hours basking in his glory, boasting of his kill as he ate it, went to waste as he was stuck eating a silent, dispassionate meal with his brother, Joffrey, his mother, and his two uncles, his father in deep deliberation with Lord Eddard at Bran Stark's bedside. Even as he chewed his spiced venison, every morsel that followed the last went stale and in a futile attempt to savor what was left of their flavor.

Stafford informed them he would be sending his sincere regards to the now grieving family. From what his uncle Tyrion had told him, the young Stark hasn't awoken since the fall. Stafford hoped he had lived. He noticed his mother and his uncle Jaime exchange brief looks of distress at each other. When their eyes met, they shone like emeralds beneath their golden hair. Their stare was interrupted by the mirthless laughter of his uncle Tyrion, whose pale green and black eyes looked on from underneath his heavy brow and shock of white-gold hair.

Stafford, exhausted and weary, thought nothing of it and went back to his sup. Today was not a good day.

It seemed he wasn't the only one with a serious injury today. He felt lucky it was only the bear that struck him down today, and continued to pray and hope for Bran Stark's good health. In the midst of his sorrows, he downed another flagon of wine.

His mother didn't seem to notice the little boy's misfortune and directed all her attention on him. She snapped at Lord Eddard earlier for being careless and allowing him to get attacked by a bear. Stafford didn't really know his mother cared that much about him, and didn't just do that for her poor prince Joffrey.

"So is the boy going to be alright?" Stafford asked. His uncle, Tyrion looked up after setting down some of the boar meat he was eating.

"It's too early to tell. Luwin is doing the best he can to help the child," he replied gently. Stafford was sorry to hear that. He didn't want anyone to experience what the young boy had experienced. Something troubled Stafford in this though. Back in his early youth, Stafford had used to try to climb all the empty keeps and towers in King's Landing. He once scaled the Red Keep too, and hadn't fallen off a single time. He stopped when he had grown taller and heavier, but he enjoyed climbing structures for a while. The young boy, Brandon or Bran like he had been called by his siblings, seemed to be an adept climber, who wouldn't just fall off, because he had lost his grip on a brick or something. He knew this, because when he climbed as a child once, he remembered paying attention to his grip and footing the most. Unless Bran was just foolish and didn't pay attention or took for granted his skill. Something just seemed off to Stafford he just didn't know what. Stafford just shrugged off all these weird thoughts, and continued eating in silence. He could barely speak now that his side had stiffened on him. He was out of his armor now, and he could definitely see the purplish, tender bruises the bear had gifted him during the hunting trip.

"How are your wounds treating you, my son?" his mother tenderly asked. There was a look of genuine concern in her eyes, something that surprised Stafford. His mother had always cared for him, not as equally as Joffrey in his opinion, but he felt she still loved him.

Stafford chuckled "It's just a flesh wound." Stafford said, not without a certain braggadocio, that did not escape his uncle Jaime, who laughed.

"It seems your little warrior has been bested by an opponent, who far outclasses him," He jested. Stafford's relationship with his uncle was an odd one to say the least. He hadn't been much of a mentor for Stafford, but they enjoyed what little time they spent with each other. They were more of a traditional familial relationship than the one he had with someone like Ser Barristan, another knight of the Kingsguard. They had a little rivalry going on in regards to combat, although even with the more than few times Stafford had challenged his uncle to a one-on-one melee, he had never won a round against his uncle. Stafford attributed it to his lack of meaningful combat experience apart from defeating people in minor melee's in small tournaments, and sparring and training with Ser Barristan.

"Let's not forget how I killed the bear," Stafford managed to say as his side really was preventing him from speaking much.

"You killed it thanks to me. Without my help, you wouldn't have been able to do that," Joffrey barked, making motions of aiming and shooting a crossbow. Stafford, enraged and having enough of his brother for one day, got up and tried to lunge at him, but then his sides began to ache, a sudden jolt of pain arch through his belly like boar's tusks.

"Enough, you two! Stafford, you mustn't strain yourself. Joffrey, watch your tongue. Seven Hells, you are brothers. Why can't you all just get along?" his mother tiredly demanded of them, reaching for another glass of summerwine. Stafford, angry but spent, returned to his seat. His venison had gone even stale. It wasn't long before he excused himself of this sorry dinner, and left with

"I'll be going to be giving my regards to the poor boy's family," His family nodded in approval and he was on his way. While on his way there he felt someone grab at his elbow to get his attention. Immediately, he knew who it was by the way he tried to get his attention. He turned around and looked down to his Uncle Tyrion.

"May I accompany you, nephew?" He asked. Stafford nodded as he continued his way to Bran with Tyrion with him. "I appreciate you sending your condolences and comforts to the Starks. It fills me with pride to see that Robert had raised at least one child with courtesy," He stated.

"I know my comforts won't make Bran feel better, but it is only right that I express them. You of all people know how I love to express myself," Stafford explained

"Indeed, gets you into trouble and also assists you. It's something you got from your father," Tyrion told him. Everyone had always drawn comparisons between him and his father Robert. Every time he did something people had always told him it reminded them of Robert this and Robert that. Sometimes Stafford got sick of hearing it. Robert Baratheon was a tough act to follow, casting a shadow longer than the Wall.

"Does everyone have to bring up how similar I am to my father?" Stafford managed to groan, "It's like I'm just another Robert to everyone, uncle. Mother always talks about me that way and even Barristan, my own mentor compares all my accomplishments to my father. Am I not my own person?" Stafford protested.

"It's not so bad if you think about it, nephew. At least you get compared to a king, while I am shunned by my own father, who despises the mention of me," His uncle reasoned. Stafford looked at him and understood his plight. At least he was compared to his father's good traits and his father respected him as his son. His uncle did not get the same courtesy from his father. In fact, every time he had visited Casterly Rock, his grandfather Tywin would never talk to his uncle, Tyrion. It seemed like he was ashamed of Tyrion somehow, and it seemed as though he regretted Tyrion's very existence.

"Hmph... I didn't mean to snap like that to you, Uncle. It's just been a long hard day for me. So many events transpired during this day, that all I want to do is rest," Stafford said as he calmed down a little.

"It's alright, Stafford. You almost got brutalized by a bear today, so I can tell your a little on edge. Anyway were are almost near the room, Bran was in. As soon as they had reached the landing after the steps, Stafford noticed Robb open the door of the room and leave it. Stafford immediately approached Robb, who glanced up at him.

"So, how's your brother? Is he getting better?" Stafford asked.

"He's hasn't woken up, but he isn't getting worse. Maester Luwin is looking at him as we speak. Arya, Sansa, and mother are in there right now looking after Bran. Your father had stopped by earlier along with mine," Robb replied.

"Robb, are you sure you alright? You have my deepest condolences for what happened, and hope for Bran to recover," Stafford told Robb. Robb looked at him.

"That's kind of you, Stafford. It's very comforting to know your uncle and yourself cared enough about Bran to show up and give your regards. Anyway, I have some business to take care of as I had been watching Bran till my mother, and sisters arrived after eating," Robb stated. Robb gave a nod of acknowledgement to Tyrion and Tyrion reciprocated it. Robb walked down the steps and out of sight. Stafford drew a breath and opened the door to Bran's room.

The room wasn't very large, but it wasn't small either. Bran was laying in a bed inside the room with the Maester attending to him, and his mother, and sisters right by his bedside. Arya glanced over to the door, while Sansa followed her. Sansa looked a little disappointed when she looked towards Stafford. Probably wanted her gallant Prince Joffrey to show up to send his sincerest regards to the family. Stafford knew Joffrey better than anyone would want to. He knew Joffrey wouldn't be coming unless someone forced him to. He didn't care about the Starks, but when the public sees him, he acts all courteous and polite. He especially liked it when the ladies were there to see his 'chivalry'. Stafford acted the same around everyone, which got him a rather mixed reputation around those, who believed in regal chivalry. Arya, however, looked like she had been waiting for Stafford or at least someone other than Joffrey. Lady Catelyn didn't even look up to see, who was at the door, she just held Bran's arm and looked mournful at his current state.

"Stafford, what are you and the Imp doing here?" Arya asked. Tyrion had a wide grin on his face.

"Arya, don't speak to Lord Tyrion like that," Sansa stated.

"I don't mind, people have called me that for a while," Tyrion stated.

"I'm here to send my deepest condolences for little Bran. I wish I could have done more to prevent his fall, Arya," Stafford stated.

"It was not your fault, Prince Stafford. You were out hunting when it happened. There was nothing you could do," Sansa replied.

"If I had stayed behind, I could have made a difference. If I had been underneath the tower he had fallen from and caught him-" Stafford began but was interrupted by someone.

"Don't blame yourself, child. If you had stayed behind, you couldn't have predicted this would have happened. I appreciate you and your uncle have the care and decency to check up on Bran," Lady Catelyn told him. Stafford just nodded in reply. Stafford just couldn't understand why this had to happen to Bran. Bran was an innocent child, who didn't deserve what happened to him. Stafford had been like that once and didn't want to think about what may happen if his life had hung in the balance like Bran's life had done. Stafford just thought about why people had to experience such terrible hardships in life. Bran did nothing to deserve this, he was just a child. Stafford couldn't help, but think what he would do if he had lost everything just in a moment.

"What is important, my prince is that Bran has stabilized, we are just waiting to see if he will wake up for now. We hope the gods will show mercy towards our plight and let our little Bran live. If he wakes up though, he might be a cripple for the rest of his life. His back seemed to have shattered during the fall," Maester Luwin stated. That was even worse. Stafford imagined not being able to walk, not being able to fight, and just sitting there getting your every need looked after. Honestly, Stafford preferred death to that fate, but even then it would cost your family dearly if you died.

"So do you think he will recover?" Stafford asked the maester. He knew more than he did in these topics. Stafford knew his way around certain topics as his uncle, Tyrion had told him to read books to educate himself, but he was nowhere near proficient as his uncle or the maester. He was much better at using axes, fighting, and riding horses than than the work of the mind.

"Only time will tell, child," The maester replied. Stafford eventually turned to his uncle, Tyrion.

"Patience, nephew. We might be long gone before we find out what the young boy's fate is, but have faith that the maester will do all he can to ensure he wakes up," Tyrion assured him. Stafford sighed almost as if he had had enough for one day. He had been attacked by a bear, had to deal with Joffrey, find out that a young boy could potentially have his life affected by an incident that happened during his childhood, and worse he won't know if Bran will live. At least he survived his bear attack, Bran's very life is hanging in the balance right now.

"What happened to your face?" Stafford heard Arya ask him.

"A bear happened to it," Stafford replied as he turned to Arya. Stafford hoped he wouldn't be scarred for the rest of his life like his uncle, Tyrion had been. It wasn't large, so he was lucky and most wasn't on his face, but his neck. The scratch on his face was not deep and barely noticable on his chin. It was bruised however. It would heal in time, however and would probably not cause long term effects.

"Did you kill it?" Arya asked him.

"I did, wasn't easy, but I did," Stafford stated, "Not without some help from other like Theon, Robb, and even Joffrey of all people." He hated having to give Joffrey credit for something, but he had to.

"Joffrey probably charged the bear fearlessly," Sansa stated dreamily. She seemed enamoured with Joffrey, which Stafford sort of found upholding. She'll get to meet him soon enough.

"He used a crossbow, which I hardly think is charging, but he did help," Stafford corrected.

"Joffrey wouldn't be brave enough to charge a bear, let alone be capable," his uncle Tyrion added. Sansa shocked at what she had heard, quickly turned towards Stafford.

"I trust the bear didn't hurt you too badly, though? Many in the castle say your skill in the axe in matched by none in Westeros," she eloquently said to Stafford. Stafford shocked Sansa actually knew what weapon he used nodded,

"I'll recover. I don't want to see any bear anytime soon, however," Stafford stated.

Suddenly the door opened and Stafford turned to see his father and Lord Eddard appear before them.

"Ah perfect, Sansa, Arya, Staff, come with us. We have something very important to discuss. Joff is already waiting for us," King Robert stated. Stafford wondered what they were going to discuss, but immediately he figured, However, when he realized, who was going to be involved in the discussion, he had a good feeling of what it was about. He had no choice, but to follow his father. Sansa and Arya were bewildered, and had no clue what was going on. Stafford merely acted natural and accompanied his father.

Soon Stafford was in the great keep with his favorite brother Joffrey, and the two Stark sisters. King Robert began to speak as soon as Lord Eddard closed the door.

"House Stark and House Baratheon have been allies since my war against the Targaryens before you were born. We have decided to join our houses in marriage. We are here to announce the betrothal between my son Joffrey, and your daughter Sansa. In addition, we are also announcing announcing another betrothal, between my second son Stafford and your second daughter Arya," The King announced. Immediately, Sansa's face grew bright at the prospect of her betrothal to Joffrey, and Arya looked stunned at her betrothal to Stafford. Stafford knew in the back of his mind that the reason why he had been called concerned the betrothal. Joffrey had probably known about the betrothal too, but Stafford had heard it from his father when they visited the crypts when they first arrived in Winterfell.

"Of course, we must wait a few years before the marriages can take place, but we have at least agreed on betrothal for now," Lord Eddard went on to explain. Stafford felt this was good as he was a boy of fifteen and Arya was only eleven. It would not be correct for them to marry now. But something in Arya's face hinted that she was not satisfied at the very least with these news.

Without another word Arya bolted and opened the door out of the keep. Lord Eddard only sighed, and his father seemed surprised at what just happened.

"What's the matter with your daugher, Ned? She just found out she was marrying a prince for the gods sake!" King Robert exclaimed.

"My daughter's probably just surprised. She acts like that whe she is," Lord Eddard explained.

"I'll go to her, and see what she thinks," Stafford stated as he began to walk toward the door. His brother had already began to talk to Sansa, who seemed like she had just heard the greatest news she had ever heard in her life. Stafford hoped to the Seven that his brother would at least treat her fairly. He hoped his brother would prove him wrong this one time.

Stafford looked around the castle to try to find, Arya, but couldn't find her. Stafford tried everywhere, and concluded she had probably locked herself in her room. That's the only place Stafford hadn't looked, but hoped to not have to try, because he didn't want to invade her privacy. Stafford found Robb, who seemed like he was about to go somewhere and asked him about Arya.

"Robb, have you seen Arya?" Stafford asked him as he passed by.

"Indeed I have, She bolted into her room and slammed the door shut for some reason. What happened?" Robb asked.

"Well, since this is probably going to be announced sometime anyway, my father and your father had agreed to announce a betrothal between Arya and I. She didn't look to happy about it, so I went after her. Also, there's also a betrothal between Joffrey and Sansa," Stafford explained. Robb didn't really have a meaningful reaction to the betrothal between Arya and him, but his face lit up when he heard about Joffrey and Sansa.

"Ah, I see. Arya isn't really interested in that. But if I'm not mistaken did you also say Joffrey was getting betrothed to my sister?" Robb asked him with anticipation.

"Yes. Is it okay if I got to your sister?" Stafford replied. Robb nodded and without another word he quickly began to walk away with some haste in his steps. Stafford stood in front of one of the only closed doors in hallway and knocked.

"Go away!" he heard Arya say.

"It's me, Stafford. I just want to talk, I know a lot has happened today, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay after you ran off like that." Stafford replied.

Suddenly the door opened for Stafford. And there she was looking more bewildered than anything. Something told Stafford she seemed to be more surprised about the betrothal more than anything else.

"Look, Arya I know this is something new to you. I didn't exactly want it, myself," Stafford explained. Her expression changed a bit after he said that, he didn't exactly know why, but it just did.

"Am I not good enough for you is that it? You probably prefer my sister don't you? I told you I didn't really want or expect to get married, but it seems like you just don't want to get married, because I am not up to your standards," she snapped almost getting ready to cry.

"What gave you that idea? All I want to see is you happy. If that means having to talk to my father about cancelling it, then so be it," Stafford stated. "You're my friend, and this betrothal doesn't change that." Arya let her guard down a little bit and calmed down. Stafford took a bit of a step forward.

"I feel weird just standing outside of your door like this, do you mind if O come in?" Stafford asked.

"S-sure," She said a little flustered at the prospect. She stepped aside and allowed Stafford to step inside. Stafford saw her wolf with her as it stared at him. The direwolf was giant, and apparently it was only a pup. If Stafford had fought a pack of these things, it would probably make the fight with the bear seem like a light sparring session with his favorite brother, Joffrey.

"Don't hesitate to tell me to leave whenever you wish, I just want to make sure you're okay after what happened," Stafford stated.

"Well, I've never really had any boy in my room that wasn't in my family, so pardon me if I'm not used to this," she said as she tried to hide an uncharacteristic blush.

"If you didn't decide to run to room, then I wouldn't need to be here," Stafford said. Arya feeling a little more embarrassed, began to pace anxiously around the room.

They exchanged banter and conversation until arya was satisfied. They talked about different things to try to get her mind off the betrothal. Stafford talked about how he beat many different opponents in Joffrey's nameday tournament his first 'major' melee he had competed in. He told of the way he had beaten Yohn Royce in combat, barely, but he had scored an upset victory when Royce got cocky and thought he had won after forcing Stafford to use his hand axe. Time passed with them just swapping stories and generally getting more well acquainted with one another.

"So about the betrothal, are you comfortable with it all?" Stafford asked.

"We don't have to get married now, right?" she asked him in reply

"Of course not, we are still strictly friends for now. But, I am willing to try the betrothal if it's okay with you,"

"Alright, let's give a try," she stated. Stafford grinned. Arya had surprised him at every turn, and she continues to do so even now.


	6. AGOT Jon I

**A/N: Thank you all for the support in the last few chapters of the saga of Stafford Baratheon and the trueborn heir. I have decided to postpone the next OC chapter till Saturday or Sunday, because the version my editor and I are currently working on is very unpolished (A lot of my current published chapters aren't very polished, so that would tell you how unpolished the current draft is). There is also work on my side project that will be released on the 28th, which is tomorrow. I tried not to update at 11 o'clock at night, but circumstance once against forced me to. This will not be a habit, I will try to stay on schedule in the future. This is one of the shorter chapters, but the next one is about average size and the next Stafford chapter, which comes out on the 30th will be the largest (It is currently being drafted and it is sitting at 3,000 words and only half-way finished). Anyway continue voting on the polls and continue reading.**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Jon_

Jon climbed the steps slowly, trying not to think that this might be the last time ever. Ghost padded silently beside him. Outside, snow swirled through the castle gates, and the yard was all noise and chaos, but inside the thick stone walls it was still warm and quiet. Too quiet for Jon's liking.

He stood next to the landing to the place where Bran was being nursed, wondering whether this would be the last time he would ever see him again. Ghost nuzzled at his hand. He took courage from that. He straightened, and entered the room.

Jon stood at the archway of the door for a moment still trying to maintain his wits in courage as he strode into the room. The window gaped wide open, and underneath the bed, was another wolf. It howled in response to new visitor.

Lady Stark looked over. For a moment she did not seem to recognize him.

Finally she blinked. "What are you doing here?" she asked in a voice strangely flat and emotionless.

"I came to see Bran," Jon said. "To say good-bye." Her face did not change. Her long auburn hair was dull and tangled. She looked as though she had aged twenty years. "You've said it. Now go away." Part of Jon wanted to run, and never look back again. However, he knew he might never ever see his again, so he stood his ground. He took another step into the room.

"Please," Jon begged.

"I said go!" Lady Stark demanded. Jon could feel the hatred in the voice of Lady Stark. It wasn't his fault his father had been her husband. She just never seemed to understand that.

"He's my brother, too," Jon calmly stated.

"Shall I call the guards then?"

"Call them," Jon stated defiantly. He crossed the room keeping the bed between them as a space.

This was not the Bran he remembered. The flesh had all gone from him. His skin stretched tight over bones like sticks. Under the blanket, his legs bent in ways that made Jon sick. His eyes were sunken deep into black pits; open, but they saw nothing. The fall had shrunken him somehow. He looked half a leaf, as if the first strong wind would carry him off to his grave

"Bran, don't die. We'll all be waiting for you when you wake up," Jon began, "I'm sorry I didn't come earlier, I was afraid. Lady Stark just sat their emotionless on what had transpired.

"I have to go now," Jon said. "Uncle Benjen is waiting. I'm to go north to the Wall. We have to leave today, before the snows come." He remembered how excited Bran had been at the prospect of the journey. It was more than he could bear, the thought of leaving him behind like this. Jon brushed away his tears, leaned over, and kissed his brother lightly on the lips.

He began to make his way out until Lady Stark finally spoke again, "I wanted him to stay here with me." Jon looked at her warily. She was not even looking at him.

Jon did not know what to say. "It wasn't your fault," he managed after an awkward silence. Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. "

I need none of your absolution, bastard." Jon lowered his eyes. She was cradling one of Bran's hands. He took the other, squeezed it. Fingers like the bones of birds.

"Good-bye," he said. He had been at the door before he heard him call his name.

"Jon," she said. She looked at his face for the first time.

"Yes?" Jon replied back to her.

"It should have been you," She turned back to Bran and wept. Her sobs penetrated his heart like a bunch of daggers. No one deserved what she was going through. It was a long walk down the yard.

The yard was busier than ever today, as both parties leaving for both the wall and King's landing were leaving today. Horses were being saddled and harnessed. There were people quickly loading supplies in the wagons for the long trip back to the South. The North was a vast region, the biggest in all the seven kingdoms. Trekking back to the crownlands would take awhile before they reached their destination. Probably a month's ride in Jon's calculation.

Robb was in the middle of the yard, talking to what looked like Prince Stafford. Prince Stafford, had always given Stafford. Prince Stafford was in his full half plate armor ready for the long ride back to King's Landing. Stafford's cuirass, greaves, and gauntlets were all polished castle forged steel, which had a general fit on him. He was only a boy of fifteen, so they had made the fit a bit loose on him with a bit of room to grow, but they still looked to fit perfectly for him. Inside the plate, he had black boiled leather, with long black leather sleeves fit to Stafford. He had his battle axe strapped to his back, and a hand-axe sheathed in the back of his armor. Stafford's battle axe was a sight to see. It's ironwood pole held up the tinted castle forged steel axe head. The weapon is as impressive as Ice, the Valyrian steel blade his father used as an ancestral blade. Stafford's axe looked just like the blade only with a tinted steel. Robb wondered whether the blade was also Valyrian steel, but highly doubted it.

Uncle Benjen is looking for you," he told Jon. "He wanted to be gone an hour ago."

"I know," Jon said. "Soon." He looked around at all the noise and confusion. "Leaving is harder than I thought."

"Heading to the wall I see? I bid you good fortunes there," Stafford stated, "Just try not to get killed by your own brothers there."

"What do you mean?" Jon asked Stafford. Stafford let out a smile.

"Nothing Jon, Just making sure you were paying attention," Stafford chortled. Jon thought Stafford seemed more pleasant than his brother, Joffrey. They seemed like two different people, although Stafford sometimes gets a little too carried away with his emotions. There was no question he was still young and immature, just not a spoiled little shit like his brother was.

"By the way, did you see him?" Robb asked Jon.

Jon nodded in reply to his question. Stafford raised his head as he finished fastening his hand axe to his armor.

"Your brother is a strong one, he will not die," Stafford stated.

"He's not going to die," Robb said. "I know it."

"You Starks are hard to kill," Jon agreed. Stafford laughed a little.

"By the way, your sister, Arya told me she wanted to see you before you left. I was about help her pack for King's Landing. Would you like to join me?" Stafford asked. Jon looked at him.

"I'll do that," Jon stated.

"Stafford here got betrothed to our little, Arya. You take care of her now, Stafford," Robb declared. Jon knew there had to be some reason, Stafford had wanted to help his sister. Unlike Joffrey, Stafford seems to genuinely care for his sister, Arya, and that Jon was thankful. He then he turned his attention to Robb before he departed.

He pulled Jon to him and embraced him fiercely.

"Farewell, Snow." Jon hugged him back.

"And you, Stark. Take care of Bran."

"I will." They broke apart and looked at each other awkwardly.

"Uncle Benjen said to send you to the stables if I saw you," Robb finally said.

"I have another farewell to make with Stafford here," Jon stated.

"Then I haven't seen you," Robb said. Stafford began to walk with Jon as well. Jon and Stafford left him standing there in the snow, surrounded by wagons and wolves and horses. It was a short walk to the armory. He picked up his package and took the covered bridge across to the Keep.

"Why did we stop by the armory," Stafford asked as they crossed the covered bridge. Jon smiled at him.

"You'll find out soon enough," Jon replied. Puzzled Stafford continued with Jon to Arya's room. When they got Arya's room, she was packing her belongings in an ironwood chest that was about her size. Jon was puzzled in the size difference between her and Stafford. Prince Stafford looked much older than he was. He was only a boy of fifteen, which surprised Jon. He looked as old as Theon, who was nineteen.

Nymeria was helping her pack, as well. When Arya glanced to see, who had entered her room she jumped to her feat. She threw her skinny arms tight around his neck. "I was afraid you were gone," she said, her breath catching in her throat. "They wouldn't let me out to say good-bye." Jon sighed a little bit.

"What did you do now?" Jon asked.

"Nothing," There were a miscellany of items littered across the ground. Stafford began to help pick them up.

"Are you going to bring this?" Stafford asked as he held up some clothes. Arya nodded and Stafford just threw it inside the ironwood chest. Stafford continued to do this while Jon talked to Arya. Stafford would make a good servant with the amount of work he was willing to deal with. It seemed like he didn't mind most of the tasks being given to him anyway. Many would think of him a fine servant.

"It's just as well. I have something for you to take with you, and it has to be packed very carefully."

Her face lit up. "A present?"

"You could call it that. Close the door." Jon commanded. Stafford immediately stopped picking up clothes and closed the door. It seems Jon was right, Stafford would definitely make an excellent attendant or servant. It is too bad he had to be good with an axe and be a prince. Jon unwrapped his package and brandished a sword. Stafford's reaction to it was great. He looked both stunned and surprised Arya had just gotten a sword from him.

"A sword," she said in a small, hushed breath. The scabbard was soft grey leather, supple as sin. Jon drew out the blade slowly, so she could see the deep blue sheen of the steel. "

This is no toy," he told her. "Be careful you don't cut yourself. The edges are sharp enough to shave with."

"Interesting, it looks like a solid rapier, I prefer axes myself, but it is a fine weapon," Stafford stated looking at it.

"You really think so, Stafford?" Arya asked him. Stafford nodded.

"I once had to hold a tourney hand axe like a battle axe when I was a child. That was the first weapon I had ever gotten. Ser Barristan nor my father thought I could be trusted with a sharp blade or axe," Stafford explained. Jon noticed her sister's clear fondness for Stafford. Up until Prince Stafford had come to Winterfell, she had almost no interest spending time with boys and princes like his other half sister did. Stafford seemed to be the exception to that. It was the first time Jon had ever seen his sister spend a prolonged period of time with a boy that wasn't her sibling or family.

"I had Mikken make this special. The bravos use swords like this in Pentos and Myr and the other Free Cities. It won't hack a man's head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you're fast enough." Jon stated.

"I've faced people in duels that were from the free cites, great swordsman, but swords always fall against axes," Stafford stated. Jon was impresesed with the amount of combat experieence Stafford had gotten himself into. Stafford, although young had trained his body like Jon did. Unlike Joffrey, who would get dominated in a match against anyone. Seven hells, Arya could probably beat Joffrey even in the state of training she currently had.

"I can be fast," Arya stated. Jon and Stafford chuckled a little bit.

"Speed isn't everything, remember that. Actually try to hit your target," Stafford stated

"You'll have to work at it every day." He put the sword in her hands, showed her how to hold it, and stepped back. "How does it feel? Do you like the balance?"

"I think so," Arya said.

"First lesson," Jon said. "Stick them with the pointy end." Stafford immediately burst out laughing after that.

"What's funny?" Jon asked Stafford.  
"Nothing, go on, I just got reminded of something," Stafford replied calming down a little.

"I know that!" Arya proclaimed. Stafford began laughing loudly again and Jon began to feel a little confused. It didn't take much to make Stafford laugh apparently. Then Arya's face started to look bleak.

"Septa Mordane will take it away from me," Arya stated.

"Not if she doesn't know you have it," Jon instructed Arya.

"Even if she does find it, I'll just tell her I gave it to you as a gift. Everyone knows rejecting a gift from a prince is considered rude," Stafford added. Arya looked at Stafford, with some gratefulness in her eyes.

"Who will I practice with?" Arya asked Jon. Jon thought for a moment and knew the answer was right in front of them. Jon pointed at Stafford.

"Stafford? But isn't he a little too experienced?" Arya asked Jon. Jon nodded.

"In order to be an effective swordsman, you're going to have to learn your way around tough opponents if necessary," Jon said, "Besides if you fight low level competition like Joffrey for example, you won't get any better."

"Don't worry. I'll _try_ to take it easy, but I know you have enough skill to at least give me more practice then my dear brother, Joffrey," Stafford stated.

"Thank you," Arya said.

"Hey it's what I'm here for, anyway let me get back to helping you pack,"

Arya knew what was coming next.

They said it together. " . . . don't . . . tell . . . Sansa!" Jon messed up her hair. "I will miss you, little sister."

Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. Stafford immediately looked up from trying to help her. "I wish you were coming with us."

"Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?" He was feeling better now. He was not going to let himself be sad. "I better go. I'll spend my first year on the Wall emptying chamber pots if I keep Uncle Ben waiting any longer."

Arya ran to him for a last hug. "Put down the sword first," Jon warned her, laughing. She set it aside almost shyly and showered him with kisses. Stafford quickly finished packing.

"Alright, everything is all ready," Stafford stated. Arya nodded at him. When Jon was about to leave, he turned around once again, as Stafford was now teaching Arya how to hold a sword properly.

"I almost forgot," Jon began, "All swords the best swords have a name,"

"Like Ice," she said.

"My axe has a name too, It's called Storm's Edge," Stafford stated. The name had a nice ring to it in Jon's mind, especially for a Baratheon.

She looked at the blade in her hand. "Does this have a name? Oh, tell me."

"Can't you guess?" Jon teased. "Your very favorite thing."

Arya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it together: "Needle!"

Before he left, he looked over to Stafford and signaled him, "Stafford may have a moment before I leave?"

"Sure," He stated as he told Arya to wait a moment. Stafford followed him outside the doorway.

"Take care of my sister, Stafford. By the gods, I will come down from the north to hunt you down if you wrong her in any way," Jon stated.

"Don't worry, nothing, including me will do her any harm," Stafford stated. Jon bid him farewell and Stafford went back into Arya's room. He can never forget the sounds of their laughter, especially his sister's and Stafford's laughter on the long ride up north.


	7. AGOT Odyn I

**A/N: I would like to thank Deus Vult Infidel for covering for me in this chapter. He wrote the little scene involving some sexual interaction and help edit it as well, so I would like to give credit where credit is due. There is some mature scenes in this one, so please be aware. This is the first of my double upload for today thank you! This is the debut of the mystery OC**

 **Enjoy!**

Odyn

As Odyn Sand tiptoed outside the room, he tried his best to avoid tripping over one of the few dozen whores he had bought from the night before. He tossed a pouch of dragons and stags, for services rendered, onto a chair in the corner and quietly shut the door behind him. Odyn walked down the winding corridors, the morning sun shining through the brothel's windows, tinted by the vibrant colors of the soft silk curtains. There was not a sound in that uncertain hour after first light, silent save for the yawns and moans of other clientele. He walked to a nearby mirror and ruffled his black hair. Odyn looked upon his lean and rugged frame, strong and fast, yet lithe and graceful. Despite his drunken stupor, he made his way downstairs through the ramshackle, three-story building and into the common room with not even a stumble.

The brothel's circular common room was empty. Tinted glass windows and singers on pipes lent a light and airy atmosphere, and Fine tapestries hung from the ceiling and murals painted in vivid Myrish style decorated the red brick walls. It was a respectable establishment, richly furnished and meticulously detailed, for nothing less than the finest tastes and richest folk. The brothel was fit for a king. And from the whispers Odyn heard on his way through the streets, frequented by the King.

The barkeeps and servants were scrubbing the low tables and sifting through the cushions and couches, retrieving any detritus and vigorously scrubbing at the odd stain, or perfuming the air to cover the stench of spent loins and spilled wine. Odyn walked to a row of empty stools around a spotless and meticulously cleaned stone counter and sat down. The counter was being scrubbed by a tall, comely young woman. Her skin was soft, supple, and unblemished. Her ripe, curvaceous body was accentuated by a knee-length silk dress. She had long, flowing hair down to her waist, a deeper shade of sunset red. Her pale blue dress complimented the already stunning blue of her eyes, innocent and doe-like. Her full, pouty lips curved into a smile as she looked at Odyn.

They stared at each other for a long while, and Odyn felt a smirk grace his lips as she blushed. He could feel many thirsts, but decided to sate his thirst for another flagon of wine first. Realizing what she was doing the past minute or so, she quickly strode to him, ready to take his order.

"Sorry for the wait, Odyn, you must've been thirsty!" she greeted him cheerfully, her face still reddened with embarrassment.

 _I'm thirsty,_ Odyn thought, _that's for damned sure._ He smiled again, and he saw her eyes flutter, but she quickly regained whatever was left of her composure. And she was starting to seem familiar to him, but he just couldn't place how. _How does she know my name?_ _And who else have I been telling it?_

"Would you like a drink?"

"Thanks. I'll have a glass of Dornish Strongwine, and an extra bottle of the same for the road." Odyn, after sifting through the pockets of his red silk tunic, slid her a few dragons in a small leather pouch across the counter to pay for the wines. Oddly enough, the pouch of dragons felt heavier and looked larger than it ought to be, but he ignored it, passing it off as a terrible hangover.

"Of course. Dornish Strongwine, coming right up." she smiled, turned away and strode to the wine cellar. Her round hips bounced with every step she took. Odyn's eyes followed her lush curves and long legs. Thank the Gods he was sitting down.

"Her name's Judith, if you cared about that."

Odyn, shocked and torn from his perfect view, turned to face the voice. _Odyn Sand, always thinking with the wrong head._ Two stools away from him sat an elegantly dressed man of short stature and a slender build. The man was snickering quietly, his bearded mouth grinning. His mouth laughed, but Odyn noticed how his twinkling jade eyes never laughed with it. He could not place where or when he heard it, but he recognized the stranger's derisive, mocking voice at the first syllable.

Odyn, though shocked and angry, did his best to keep his composure. _My father's rage had cost him much. I better not follow him in that regard._ Gracefully, he pretended to start chuckling with him. To be safe, he kept a good distance from the dead-eyed stranger. Their laughter soon calmed, and the two strangers were left smiling to themselves.

"Odyn. Your Strongwine, for here and for on your travels." Judith beckoned Odyn as she walked back to the countertop from the cellar, carrying a massive, red bottle of Strongwine. She gently placed the vintage down on the countertop.

"Many thanks to you, Judith." Odyn thanked her with a warm sense gratitude.

She froze briefly after he said her name. Biting her lip, she continued wiping the countertops clean. As they had already been for the past half an hour or so. And even stranger, his oddly heavy pouch of dragons, payment for his drink, had been left untouched.

And as he turned to his right, the stranger was still laughing. "Seven Hells, can you just explain whatever the fuck it is you're trying to pull on me? What's so funny?" Odyn swore furiously.

The man turned and looked him straight into his eyes. "You really don't know, do you?" He laughed incredulously. "A bit rude of you, really. If I were you, I'd at least remember the first girl I bought for the night."

Slowly, the memories of last night came rushing back to him, and suddenly he felt as if his head was being crushed beneath a mountain.

 _Flashback_

 _It was his second day in King's Landing, leaving behind the humble alehouse room he had bought the night before. The sun was setting and bathing the city in an orange glow, the horizon turning to a swirl of red-gold light. After the sun had set, he left his little room and began his nightly prowl through the long, winding pathways of King's Landing for a second time._

 _He was walking through the city streets, under the starry skies. Odyn thirsted for a strong drink in the night to warm him to bed. Hoping to come across one tavern or another eventually, he continued trudging through the masses of commoners. Surveying the streets, he saw bustling alehouses, smithies, and platoons of City Watchmen in gold cloaks patrolling the streets. He heard rumors from the city, of King Robert's hand Jon Arryn dying of a fever. And from traders and travelers from the North, word was spreading of a new Hand of The King to be chosen. Considering how close they were, it was easy to see that King Robert Baratheon, in a few week's time, will officially announce his loyal friend and comrade Eddard Stark of Winterfell as the second most powerful man in all of Westeros._

 _His thoughts were interrupted by the odd sight of a cart wheel rolling out of a wide alleyway between an alehouse and a line of run-down houses. Odyn stepped back, managing to catch the wheel before it rolled into the road. Still holding it, he gazed into the alley. On the other side, he saw an open ring of ramshackle slums overlooking a circular courtyard. The faded red brick walls were older than their method of construction. These housing complexes were most likely created from salvageable bricks left in the aftermath of the Sack of King's Landing by the Lannisters, whom one of which raped and murdered his aunt Elia and killed his young cousins Aegon and Rhaenys. Odyn would know; His father never stopped talking about it. His hands were bleeding as he clenched the wooden wheel in fists of rage. Elia Martell. They raped her. They murdered her. They killed her children. May the Gods have mercy on the Lannisters. We won't._

 _As Odyn walked into the alley, he could hear signs of struggle, merciless laughter, and the high voice of a man begging for his life. He laid down the wheel against the alley's wall. His walk broke into a sprint as he drew his longsword and raised his buckler in one fluid motion. When he reached the opening, he saw a stout man in a brown, roughspun robe surrounded by a gang of 6 unkempt, brightly dressed ruffians who reeked of a dead man's shit. On the other side of the courtyard, he saw a mostly intact cart, filled with cargo crates and missing a wheel._

" _Please, I don't know who any of you are or what you want, just please don't kill me. I-I swear, I'll give you anything you wa-" The stout man was punched in the gut, falling to the ground and crumpling in a heap. He kept his arms over his head and knees over his chest, readying for the worst and last beating of his life. The tallest and huskiest ruffian, in clashing, patchwork silks that clashed even harder with his mud-caked leather boots laughed, a low rumble. He leaned in close to the man on the ground, grabbed him by his throat and threw him back to the ground. The leader stepped back to rally his gang._

" _You're gonna learn today, big fella." The husky one said lasciviously, unlacing his colored breeches and displaying his engorged member as his gang followed in suit. "You're going to learn today."_

 _Not even a second after, the rest of his crew, their now flaccid members dangling from their breeches, screamed and reeled away. They beheld the gruesome sight of a good foot and a half of castleforged steel protruding from their master's mouth. His bulging eyes were wide open, and blood flowed all over his silks as he let out a rasping rattle like a babe being tossed into an a viper pit. He fell to his knees as Odyn yanked the blade from the back of his skull, and hacked his head off with one clean blow, bathing him in a shower of crimson. Walking over the leader's corpse disgustedly and into the midst of the gang, he spoke one word in a calm voice: "Run." The gang, having regained their wits, proceeded to scramble out the alley, climbing over each other to escape. Outside the alley, Odyn heard a scramble of guards accosting the men, and riotous laughter from the commoners still awake at this hour_

 _Odyn helped the portly man to his feet, helping him recover a few pouches of coin the gang leader took from him. "By the Gods, are you okay?" Odyn asked, concerned._

" _Nothing to worry about. Say what you will of my size, boy, but I can certainly take a punch, that's for damned sure." The man's voice, high and pitiful, turned sharp and thin as a knife._

 _Helping the man to the alley's entrance and more or less intact cart, he picked up the wheel he had laid aside before engaging in combat with the gang. "I was walking on the street when this rolled out of the alley. It's in good shape, and I can fix your cart. I'll even help you bring your goods to wherever you need." Odyn offered._

" _Thanks, boy. Kindness like yours is a rare commodity in this city. Everybody's someone else and nothing's ever as it seems. It's good to know there's kind young lads like you left. This city's a web of lies, and I dread to meet the spider at its center."_

" _No problem. Now, let's get back to fixing your cart, yes? I hope we can still get to where you need to be." Odyn was tightening the wheel around its axle, the surprisingly strong stranger lifting the cart up with all his might. After a few minutes of ensuring the tightness of the wheel's fitting's, the two men held the cart up, and rolled it out of the alley. As they were guiding it down the road, Odyn suddenly realized a glaring lack of an important part of the cart._

" _Did you have a horse or anything with you before you got ambushed by those fools?" Odyn asked nervously, hoping he wouldn't have to track down a horse through the city this late at night._

 _The stout man laughed heartily, his voice muffled by a heavy, roughspun cowl shrouding his face in shadow. "Where we need to go is only across a few streets, boy. No use buying a horse for such a short distance, am I right?" Odyn nodded in agreement, and for the last few minutes left in their walk, silently rolled the cart along._

 _They finally arrived outside a large, three story tall building, which despite its ramshackle construction, stood elegantly alongside the fancier venues Odyn observed in his two days at King's Landing. As Odyn noticed the red lantern hanging over the establishment's door, he realized where he is._

" _A brothel. What are you delivering to a brothel, this late at night, in multiple heavy boxes?" Odyn was only curious. He wouldn't argue going here even if he knew it._

" _A favor for an old… Friend of mine." Odyn shrugged along, but he knew that if you had to call someone a "friend of yours", you weren't really friends with them._

 _The two secured their cart and cargo, the stout man calling over a few muscled guards in mail and half-helms to bring the remaining bulk of the crates. With much anticipation, Odyn walked in._

 _They now stood in a crowded common room, filled with tables and cushioned chairs. A singer and a band of pipes and lutes played songs that made even Odyn blush. They walked through the sea of nubile young women, dressed in the thinnest and finest silk gowns with nothing underneath, held close to the laps of their lovers, leading them upstairs, and fondling them tenderly. As Odyn began to stop and enjoy the scenery, his companion shot him a glare beneath his heavy hood, and yanked him along. He led him to the countertop nearby, and they both sat down, Odyn throwing glances at some available girls. Another man soon sat down with them, next to the portly stranger and two chairs down from Odyn. They whispered intensely for a while, and the other man soon addressed Odyn, as guards were coming from the outside, taking the crates to the back of the kitchens._

" _You've done a fine service to me and my good friend here, Odyn Sand. I appreciate your help and the protection of our interests from those vagrants earlier this night. Take this, for services rendered." Before he could protest with his claims of just doing the right thing and needing mo payment, a heavy pouch of coin was slid to him across the counter. Odyn opened it, and he was greeted by the lovely sound of shiny gold dragons clinking. He soon found himself_

 _He looked to his right, hoping to thank the man. There was a short, slender and youthful man with dark, greying hair. And pinned to the breast of his elegant robes was an ornate silver mockingbird. His bearded face grinned, but his jade-green eyes remained… Distant._

" _I thank you for this, my good man. But you know, I must ask; What is your name?"_

" _My name's Baelish. Petyr Baelish. I'm the owner of this fine establishment. And yes, your payment can be spent here. I'm sure you're eager to do so after a long day, and I'll be glad to provide you the opportunity." Petyr whistled, beckoning over a gorgeous young lady with long legs, wearing a silk blue dress that brought out the blue in her eyes. Her skin was pale and unblemished. She was tall and slim, yet buxom and curvaceous in all the right places. Her long, sunset-red hair fell cascaded from her shoulders, and Odyn could feel his loins stir at the sight of her beauty. When she walked into the bar from the kitchens, she waved shyly and anxiously, but when her eyes met Odyn's, they locked him into her sultry stare. Her gaze turned innocent, wicked and alluring, all at once. She walked around the counter and sat down next to Odyn, blushing at the sight_ _of his growing manhood he tried desperately to hide under the countertop_

" _Aren't you glad you're sitting down?" Petyr Baelish jested warmly._

 _He wasn't wrong. One look with her eyes and her pouty lips, and he was on her like stallion after a mare in heat. "Odyn, do you know why your pouch of coin is a whole lot heavier than usual for a girl just as beautiful as her?"_

" _And why is that, Lord Baelish?"_

" _She's a virgin. The newest addition to our staff. So do her a favor, and give her the best first time you can. Take one head away and give her another, if you catch my meaning. And without further delay, I must bid you goodnight, my friend." Baelish laughed charmingly, and with an approving nod, toasted to Odyn and his woman with a glass of wine and returned to his whispers with his old friend._

 _Odyn looked back at Baelish and his stout companion and smiled, filled with unspoken yet palpable gratitude. Without a moment's hesitation, he got up from his seat at the bar, took her hand, and raced upstairs._

 _The busy night left them with a third story room, with a balcony overlooking the skyline of King's Landing under the moonlight. The two young lovers were left staring at each other. "Forgive my manners, but I forgot to ask: My name's Odyn Sand. What's your name?" Odyn whispered as he held her close._

" _Judith. My name's Judith." She whispered back into his ear as he slid his deft hands up her dress, and tenderly stroked the heat between her legs, already wet and ever-willing She shuddered with a gasp. Her eyes fluttered as she failed to suppress a growing moan. "Yes. Forever and always, yes…"_

" _I can tell this is your first time, Judith." Odyn took a swig of strongwine he had brought for his midnight venture with his remaining hand, his other hand never losing its steady focus. " I'll make sure to take this easy on you, and if at any time you feel uncomfortable and you want to stop, just tell me. I want you to feel happy and safe, so you do and say what you mu-"_

 _His words were quieted beneath her passionate kiss. She tasted like strawberries and custard, and with light hands, Judith guided his fingers deeper into her. She let out wails of ecstasy in between kisses and even faster strokes of Odyn's fingers. Faster and harder, Odyn was an artist at work. It was at that moment that she unlaced her dress and slipped off her straps, letting her pale blue dress slink to the floor. Beneath her dress, she wore nothing else. Still moaning, she helped her eager hands to unlacing Odyn's breeches swiftly._

 _Her eyes widened at the glorious sight, looking first to Odyn's smiling eyes and back to his endowment, many times over until Odyn gave a warm chuckle. "The Gods gave me one blessing."_

 _Still standing, Odyn leaned in close, his hand moving to fondle her pale, supple breast. "You know the old saying, the more the merrier?" She looked up and loosened her grasp on his member, and gave a wicked smile. With another kiss in the moonlight, two lovers locked in carnal embrace, the last thing he could remember of the night was a long swig of strongwine with his free hand as the other caressed Judith's soft back._

Present-Day

Shook from his recollections, his mind returned to somewhere now, Judith smiling at him while wiping the spotless tables and Petyr Baelish laughing good-naturedly two seats down from him. Immediately, Odyn jumped out of his seat. "I remember you! You're Lord Baelish!" He was immediately filled with great fear. Odyn Sand would not suffer lightly for swearing at the Master of Coin. Petyr, seeming to smell his fear, eased and smiled kindly.

"I can understand your shock, Odyn. I know that even the best of us aren't the most particularly sensitive or tactful of folk while hungover. You need not worry." Petyr Baelish patted him on the back reassuredly.

"I am grateful for your forgiveness and understanding, Lord Baelish. Thank you. But I remain curious of a few, inconsistencies in my memory." Odyn turned and gestured to his strangely heavy pouch of coin he drew from his silk robe.

"Well you see, that's another funny story. I don't know what the hell you did with Judith, but she enjoyed the experience so much, that even as you hastily filled the coin pouch between whores, she refused to accept your gold. That isn't the pay for your drink. It was supposed to be your payment for her." Odyn's eyes widened, and a smile spread across his face. He picked up his heavy coin pouch, and turned to Judith, winking. To his pleasure, Odyn caught her mid-longing glance at him, her pale blue eyes staring at him like she couldn't believe he was real. She blushed, her pale face turning redder than her hair.

"So Odyn, I suppose you're staying a while in King's Landing, right? Well if you are, you're welcome to my establishment at any reasonable time you please." Petyr Baelish offered.

"My thanks to you, Lord Baelish. I'll be happy to visit. And Judith?" Odyn called out. She looked up sharply from her counter.

"I guess I'll see you around." He blew a kiss to her, and strode to the common room's doors, opening to the sun rising over the city's skyline.

"I hope you do, Odyn Sand. I hope you do." Judith, already yearning for his touch and his passionate love, returned the kiss. As Odyn walked out onto the city streets, he savored her sky-blue eyes for one last time, as the doors shut between them.

And there Odyn was again, alone on the streets, yearning for another adventure. But as he walked with confidence and youthful vigor, disturbing questions he once could ignore returned to his consciousness. _How did Petyr Baelish know my name?_ Odyn had told nobody his real name, save for Judith. And Lord Baelish had already addressed him Odyn Sand before his time with Judith. His mind wandered to the stout man's words. _This city's a web of lies, and I dread to meet the spider at its center._ Had Odyn flew blindly into the web?

As he took a swig of his bottle of strongwine to dull his troubled mind, he could not help but see perched silver mockingbirds atop the red lanterns all across the alley. _The wolves howled, the stags charged and the lions roared. And the little mockingbird spread its wings to take flight, for places beyond._


	8. AGOT Stafford IV

**A/N: This is the second part of the double upload. Thank you all for being patient and understanding. I was super busy this weekend so I was unable to release the mystery OC or the first two chapters of Our Blades are Sharp. This is another Stafford POV and it is his recollections on what happened during the first part of the scenes in the trident. Sorry for the cliffhanger, but it sets up for Sansa's first POV next chapter. Stafford will be seen with Barristan Selmy for the first time. Please continue to vote on the poll for Arya and Sansa. Thank you for all the support!**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Stafford_

It had been a week since they had left Winterfell. Since then they had exchanged the cold northern weather with the south, Stafford had always been accustomed to. Stafford felt the cool summer breeze on his skin and he knew he was closer to home. Stafford had been born during a long summer, everyone said so. He hadn't ever experienced a winter in his life. He had been to many parts of the south, from Highgarden to Storm's End and nothing quite compared to the experiences he had up north. The people of the north were probably not used to the ways of the South. He heard they even followed the old gods. He enjoyed his time in north, however much to his own surprise as well. He had expected it to be a cold desolate wasteland of emptiness. That's what many in King's Landing called it and he had never really experienced it for himself. The people of the North usually kept to themselves. Stafford, however, found that the folk of the north did not have much in common with the people in the south. They were a hardy folk, who followed old tradition. Something that the south did not really adhere to or in fact enjoy the prospect of. Stafford had not even been in the north for very long, but he knew that he might have enjoyed living there. It might have been due to how interesting and friendly the Starks were in his visit. He enjoyed them more than most of the people in King's Landing. They were honest, and frankly weren't desperately trying get their daughters to marry him for his claim to both Storm's End and Dragonstone, after his uncles both passed on. It was a shame he had to go back to King's Landing so quickly

After he broken fast this morning, he slipped out of the camp and rode to the bend of the Trident. Stafford carried his training axe, and he grabbed a training dummy to practice on. Every time they passed by the Trident, he would always perform this ritual of having to go back to site where his father kill Rhaegar. Stafford always got so attached in trying to act like he was in that very battle and he was striking down Rhaegar as he swung every blow. His father had always lived in the past like that. It was a way Stafford thought he could avenge his father every day he passed by. Father could have been happier if Rhaegar hadn't taken everything from him. Now he seemed like he also died on the trident with Rhaegar, no longer even able to heft the warhammer he was once famous for wielding at the trident.

He reached a clearing overlooking the river where it was stable enough to plant his practice dummy on. He dismounted his horse, staked the dummy on the ground, and began to warm up his muscles for the first few rounds of training he had for today. He had always trained even during the time they had been in Winterfell. Ser Barristan had always told Stafford to train his body like you would train a horse for a racing competition. The horse must not miss a day of training lest he slow and become weak. These horses were ripe for the slaughter and would not even hold a candle to the competition. He would not be untrained horse, he would be the fastest steed in the race. Although his fighting style hardly used any type of speed and most of the time he relied on strength and endurance.

He took a deep breath after stretching and began to slowly warm up with a few swings. He swung hard at the target. He used a variety of slashes to accomplish his goals. He used upward hook slashes to clip the dummies chin, and power slashes to send its body and head sideways. He kept on hitting it hard as it slowly began to slide to the ground. After another good hit to the head, the dummy got uprooted by the hit and sent the dummy to the ground. Stafford laughed, he would be doing this all day.

He continued his routine silently, substituting the power blows with swift strikes to help improve his stamina during battle. It was something he desperately needed to work on during combat as he winded easily. Each of the hits to the dummy took a toll on Stafford, especially since he practiced in his full half plate armor, because he wanted to get used to its encumbrance in battle. Periodically, Stafford would also do some calisthenic workouts with certain repetitions to make sure his stamina increased as well. After he had worked up a bit of a sweat, he once again knocked down the dummy for probably the fifth time now.

"You sure are besting that dummy that can't fight back," he heard a voice from behind him jest. He expected it to be his uncle Jamie, he actually hoped for it to be, so he could challenge him to a match here at the trident. Only fitting for it to happen in the exact same place his father killed Rhaegar, However, he realized the voice did not sound like his uncle at all. In fact, it had age with it. It was Barristan Selmy, the knight commander of the Kingsguard. He was in all white, but surprisingly he wasn't in his garments that were usually reserved for non combat purposes. Ser Barristan was in battle armor, the armor the kingsguard usually wore in the field. Stafford had no idea why, but the armor Barristan was wearing made his armor look like some peasant blacksmith had made it. The Kingsguard wear all white cloaks and intricate suits of white enameled scales, their fastenings for breastplate and other pieces made of silver. Barristan wore it with honor, and such befits an honorable man in Stafford's opinion.

"What are you doing here? Reminiscing your glory days? I wasn't expecting to see you here at all" Stafford replied. Ser Barristan laughed. Stafford grounded his axe and approached the old knight. Ser Barristan's long white hair blew in the wind.

"I accompanied Lord Renly here to meet the royal party. I expected to find you here," Ser Barristan stated, "Anyway, care to face a real opponent instead of dominating an unarmed scarecrow dummy?" Stafford grinned and picked up his axe.

"Gladly, you're youth is behind you. This time I will defeat you!" Stafford declared.

"Come then, let's see if you can beat the man, who taught you how to fight," Ser Barristan stated. Stafford picked up his axe and they began encircling each other for the fight. Ser Barristan initiated the battle using his sword to try to penetrate Stafford's guard. Stafford deflected the blows, and knew Ser Barristan wasn't holding anything back with the amount of power he felt while trying to do so. Luckily, they were fighting with blunted tourney blades, and not real ones. He would be quite nervous if they were. Ser Barristan drove him back as he deflected the blows with his axe. Stafford always tried to use the tactic of wearing down his opponents, by them thinking they had the upper hand and making them expend all their energy trying to hit his defensive stance. The crack of the wood on blunted sword could probably be heard from camp.

This time, however, Stafford could not see Ser Barristan's blows come any slower than they had been. They had come with a constant flurry, they had always had as they continued. Stafford not having any more time, before he himself tired out from having to deflect the blows went out of his defensive shell and assaulted Ser Barristan with his own flurry of axe. Stafford got in close and tried to get himself a hit at the close range. His battle axe was a pole arm, but if Stafford knew how to use it in close. In fact for some reason, he was better at close range with all of his axes than he was from the long reach area his battle axe was designed for. Ser Barristan got pushed back, by the flurry but he was unable to land a hit on him. When Ser Barristan tried to swipe at him with his sword to try to catch Stafford off guard, Stafford decided to try his luck and use his signature move. He caught the sword and tried to use the beard of his axe and all his strength to disarm Barristan. As soon as he tried to do so, Barristan smiled and yanked his sword quickly back before Stafford could put his full weight into his sword.

"Still up to your old tricks I see!" Ser Barristan declared with a smile on his face. Stafford resetting himself took a little breath.

"Should have expected not to be able disarm you like that. My fault, that will be my last mistake," Stafford proclaimed in reply as he charged Ser Barristan. Stafford's flurry of axes took a new found fury. They were fast, but powerful. Every passing blow dealt the force of a stag charge hitting it's target. Each slash was a woodcutters strike at a tree. Ser Barristan was driven back and Stafford managed to land a few clean blows on him. Stafford gaining confidence continued his pressured assault on Ser Barristan. Ser Barristan still deflected a majority of his blows and barely looked winded. Stafford had begun to take breaths in bunches now. He had not prepared for this long of a fight. He felt like the last minute of fighting had been an eternity. Stafford felt as if he had not longer had the energy to continue the assault, so he got even closer to try to close it out quicker. He began exchanging his flurry with strong power blows. They were winded up and exaggerated. Stafford felt his arms were wobbly despite the amount of blows he had landed on Ser Barristan.

Suddenly like a hunter's trap had been sprung, Ser Barristan began to respond to Stafford's blows. No longer able to keep up with each of the strikes while attacking, Stafford went on the full defensive. He was unable to deflect all the blows and Ser Barristan was about to hit major blows to his injured side. He still felt some of it, but he trained through it anyway. It was definitely affecting him now. Even more winded now than ever, Stafford realized the situation was dire. Defiantly, he began to make his final charge. With all his mind, and with the adrenaline pumping through him, he forgot about his pain and suffering. He landed blow after blow on Ser Barristan, hitting a majority of it, but the old knight stood strong and was able to weather the storm. The axe wasn't able to chop down the tree today. Now drained of energy, Stafford tried to land his final winded up strike to try to knock down Ser Barristan. However, before he could do so, he felt all the wind leave him. He realised, Ser Barristan had hit him right at his side after he had winded up. Ser Barristan landed a much more powerful cleave to his shoulder, sending Stafford straight to the ground on his knees, axe flying to the ground. Ser Barristan threw his blade on the ground.

"Well fought, almost had me with that last flurry. Try not show weakness on your side, you were clearly vulnerable and you showed it. If I had been Rhaegar, however you would have bested me like your father," Ser Barristan stated as he extended a hand to Stafford. Stafford laughed and took his hand as he got up.

"Stafford?" he heard a voice ask. He turned around and saw Arya with a boy he didn't recognize. He looked common, probably of the Riverlands. Ser Barristan looked at both of them, and picked up his practice blade from the ground.

"Arya? What are you doing here?" Stafford stated.

"Mycah and I were going to look for rubies in the Trident, what are you doing here?" she asked him.

"Ah, must Lord Eddard's daughter, I am Ser Barristan Selmy," Ser Barristan introduced himself. The boy's face lit up when Ser Barristan introduced himself tot the pair.

"Barristan the bold? Lord Commander of the Kingsguard?" Mycah, or at least that's what Stafford thought the boy's name was, asked.

"Indeed. Child. Stafford, I need to head back to the camp. Keep up with your training, and maybe one day you can best me," Ser Barristan stated as he began walking away from the clearing. Stafford sighed feeling the crushing defeat in his system. It wasn't like he put great worth in the duel, it was just that his sides and his arms were now ready to disintegrate after all the hard work he put in. Stafford kept his head up and decided it was best he move on from the defeat he had experienced.

"How long were you two standing there?" Stafford asked Arya and the boy curiously. The boy still awestruck came up with the answer before Arya could even speak. This surprised even Stafford.

"We saw the whole thing m'lord. Nothing to be ashamed of, Ser Barristan is quite the formidable warrior from what I heard in my father," Mycah stated.

"And what does your father do?"

"He's the butcher m'lord," the boy replied. Stafford noticed they were both carrying long wooden sticks, which really stood out to them. They looked like long branches, that could've been taken from a tree.

"So..What were you and that old knight doing here?" Arya asked Stafford. Stafford readjusted the sparring dummy for himself.

"Well, I was training by myself like I always do when we pass by this part of the Trident, when Ser Barristan showed up and challenged me to a duel. It seems he always does that whenever he sees me training alone, probably testing me or something," Stafford stated.

"So, he trains you?" Arya said.

"Well, yes, he is the man, who taught me all I know in a fight. Every man, who wants to fight has to learn from someone, and that someone just happened to be Ser Barristan for me," Stafford replied. The butcher's boy stood there in amazement after what Stafford had just said.

"Ser Barristan Selmy is the one who taught you how to fight? Just who are you m'lord," the butcher's boy asked. Stafford smiled.

"I'm Stafford Baratheon, _Prince_ Stafford Baratheon I should say, but I hate having to repeat that title," Stafford replied in a calm dignified tone. The boy stood even more awestruck like he had met one of the seven. Stafford didn't like telling people of his status, especially commoners, who believed every noble was some legendary figure. Unlike his brother, Joffrey, who believes every bit that he is better than the people of the world, just because of his noble birth. Stafford Baratheon is someone, who really didn't give a damn about his birth. By the seven hells, he didn't want to lose his noble birth, though. He felt as if he wanted the titles that came with it, especially if he inherited Storm's End, but didn't want to be recognized as a Lord, but a common everyday person. Sure Stafford was a proud man, but he thought titles meant nothing. The titles themselves don't make a man, his actions did Ser Barristan once told him. Ser Barristan, once told him.

" _The_ Stafford Baratheon, the Demon's Headsman? The second son of King Robert Baratheon" The butcher's boy stated. By the gods, that nickname had spread farther than he ever wanted to. He had earned the nickname after Joffrey's little tourney, which caused him much fame and infamy alike. Many in the Riverlands, especially at the crossing called him the Fiend Axeman, and others throughout the Seven Kingdoms called him the Demon's Headsman, because of how he had crushed the head of the Frey bastard in the tourney. He couldn't even remember the young man's name. Stafford was one of the youngest in that tourney and some had speculated he might be the next highborn boy to die in a tournament. His father apparently thought it was funny they nicknamed him the Demon's Headsman, because he had been the Demon of the Trident. Stafford shrugged off the nickname and returned to his training.

"Mycah, quit bothering Stafford like that. Now do you want to duel or not?" Arya asked the butcher's boy. The butcher's boy simply nodded in reply and they went to another open place right next to his training position. Stafford curious began to use his perpherial vision see what they were both doing. Stafford wanted to see what they meant by dueling. Stafford hoped that Arya wasn't going to pull out Needle and enter a deadly duel with a butcher's boy. Because he might have to kill the butcher's boy if he drew a weapon on Arya. He wasn't going to risk anything bad happening to her. He had promised that to her half brother Jon, and he was going to keep that promise.

The two brandished the blades in front of one another like they were about to clash with true swords. Stafford noticed how they gripped the two sticks like two swords. He gave out a sigh of relief, they were just going to fight with two sticks, he didn't want to kill anyone today. He only killed one person, and he didn't mean to.

Stafford moved up and attacked the dummy with a new vigor. Stafford moved up all over the dummy and struck it down with his axe. He heard the banging of two sticks, but paid no attention to the other two fighting with one another with sticks. He focused all his time and effort in defeating the dummy, he was going to be one of the best warriors in the land. He was not let a defeat let him get out. Stafford continued thrashing dummy vigorously and continued with such a fire in his heart that even the Targaryen dragons could produce a flame its equal. Eventually he knocked it down again, and Stafford turned to the two, who were still fighting with the sticks as if they were both swords.

"You two should have asked me for tourney blades, maybe you could get some better fighting practice in with them rather than using sticks," Stafford declared. The two stopped momentarily and looked at Stafford.

"Do you have anything we could use besides sticks?" Arya asked with a gleam in her eyes. Stafford chuckled a little.

"Here let me show you how to wield an actual blade," Stafford stated. Stafford went to his horse, and searched the saddlebags for a little. He threw out some of his spare axe and got out a tourney blade.

"Who wants to use the axe?" the butcher's boy quickly made himself known that he wanted the axe. Stafford handed the tourney blade to Arya. She grabbed it and got herself ready.

"Alright, first we'll work on stance, then we'll work on your swordsmanship," Stafford began, "I am not the expert in using swords, but I can use one well enough to teach you the basics. Axes on the other hand, you ask I know." Stafford then spent some time talking about the proper stance. Ser Barristan told him that the stance was the foundation of the skill in combat. With a good stance, one can channel and control the battle. After he taught them the stance, he taught them about the basic parry and reposte with a sword and an axe.

"Deflect it with the beard of your axe, Mycah! Arya don't get so aggresive, You're leaving yourself wide open for an attack!" Stafford instructed. The hours passed as Stafford continued telling advice to the two as they contiued to fight. Stafford even joined in a few rounds to spar with the two. He beat them both of course, but he always told them their mistakes when he did. The only way to get better is to face good opponents and how you went wrong if you lose to these good opponents. To be honest, the fight he recieved might rival even Joffrey, who has tried and failed to be a good swordsman.

Suddenly they heard a voice yell in surprise, "Arya?" Stafford heard his favorThe hours passed as Stafford continued telling advice to the two as they contiued to fight. Stafford even joined in a few rounds to spar with the two. He beat them both of course, but he always told them their mistakes when he did. The only way to get better is to face good opponents and how you went wrong if you lose to these good opponents. To be honest, the fight he recieved might rival even Joffrey, who has tried and failed to be a good swordsman.

Suddenly they heard a voice yell in surprise, "Arya?" Stafford heard his favorite brother Joffrey's laugh afterwards. There the two were with Joffrey having what looked like a skin for a drink. Stafford looked at the two of them, they seemed to be having a good time. The sparring between Mycah and Arya stopped as soon as they saw what was going on.

"Go away," Arya shouted back at them, angry tears in her eyes. "What are you doing here? Leave us alone."

"Alright, enough. Joffrey. There are plenty of other places in the Trident to take your lady," Stafford stated as calmly as he possibly could. The nerves his brother had were amazing. Such boldness for someone as low as Joffrey.

Joffrey glanced from Arya to Sansa and back again. He completely ignored Stafford, which only served to enrage Stafford a bit more. "Your sister?" She nodded, blushing.

"And who are you, boy?" he asked in a commanding tone that took no notice of the fact that the other was a year his senior.

"Mycah, m'lord" the boy stated.

"He's my friend," Arya said sharply. "You leave him alone." "A butcher's boy who wants to be a knight, is it?" Joffrey swung down from his mount, sword in hand. "Pick up your sword, butcher's boy," he said, his eyes bright with amusement. "Let us see how good you are."

"Probably better than you ever will be," Stafford taunted, but when Joffrey detects a fear in another human being, he begins to ignore those, who do stand up to him.

Mycah stood there, frozen with fear. He looked at Stafford obviously wanting him to defend him. Joffrey walked toward him. "Go on, pick it up. Or do you only fight little girls?"

"She ast me to, m'lord," Mycah said. "She ast me to." Without warning he laid his sword on the boy's cheek. Luckily Stafford carried his sharp hand axe with him to defend himself in times like these. He drew it, but Joffrey still didn't seem to notice him. He was too busy trying bully Mycah.

"I won't hurt him . . . much," Joffrey told Arya, never taking his eyes off the butcher's boy. Arya went for him.

There was a loud crack as the wood split against the back of the prince's head, and then everything happened at once before Sansa's horrified eyes. Joffrey staggered and whirled around, roaring curses. Mycah ran for the trees as fast as his legs would take him. Arya swung at the prince again, but this time Joffrey caught the blow on Lion's Tooth and sent her broken stick flying from her hands. The back of his head was all bloody and his eyes were on fire.

Sansa was shrieking, "No, no, stop it, stop it, both of you, you're spoiling it." Stafford tried his hardest to intervene in the situation as he suddenly pushed Joffrey with the back of his axe. No one endangered Arya's life with a sharp sword and gets away with it. Stafford now stood his ground and faced Joffrey in a straight stand off.

"You little…"Joffrey stated as he began swining at Stafford. Stafford deflected the blows with ease, and just as about he was disarm him quickly, he saw a grey whirl go right past him.

Stafford gasped as his brother got bit by the direwolf, he hadn't noticed it up until this point.


	9. AGOT Sansa I

**A/N: This is the first POV for Sansa, and it should have been published Wednesday, but I was unable to do so. Sorry for not being able to upload Wednesday, I was busy and it will hopefully not happen again. This is why I will upload another chapter Sunday to make up for the missed day. Thank you for being understanding. This chapter ends in another cliffhanger, which I regret, but I wanted another Arya POV, and this would be a perfect time to insert one. The Sunday chapter, will be Stafford's fourth POV. I promise not to make cliffhangers a trend. Please once again continue voting in the poll in my profile, it is important for those who want Stafford to end up with the person they like.**

 **Mainalpha: Like I said above the pairings will be determined officially in a later chapter, I estimate about in between chapter 19-25, so please be patient. I appreciate the advice and thank you for the review**

 **TMI Fairy: Stafford's pairing with Arya is not necessarily a romantic one, and it is founded on a childish childhood friendship. Also, Stafford wasn't wearing full plate, which would be very uncomfortable, but half-plate with the rest of his armor being boiled leather. And the fact that Stafford is about to leave riding, means he cannot be in civilian clothes. Thank you the review.**

 _Sansa_

The steel fell from his fingers as the wolf knocked him off his feet, and they rolled in the grass, the wolf snarling and ripping at him, Prince Joffrey shrieking in pain. "Get it off," he screamed. "Get it off!" His brother, Prince Stafford still with his axe out stood there, not even making an attempt at swiping at Arya's direwolf.

Arya's voice cracked like a whip. "Nymeria!" The direwolf let go of Prince Joffrey and moved to Arya's side. The prince lay in the grass, whimpering, cradling his mangled arm. His shirt was soaked in blood. Prince Stafford still probably collecting himself after what had just happened remained surprisingly stoic through everything. Sansa expected him to crack a joke or deliver one of those quick comebacks he always thought of. To be honest, she kind of liked that side of him, but he was clearly showing a mature part in him to know the severity of what just happened.

Arya said, "She didn't hurt you . . . much." She picked up Lion's Tooth where it had fallen, and stood over him, holding the sword with both hands

Joffrey made a scared whimpering sound as he looked up at her. "No," he said, "don't hurt me. I'll tell my mother."

"You leave him alone!" Sansa screamed at her sister. Prince Stafford glanced at her like she had done something wrong, but Sansa thought nothing of it at the moment.

"Arya, listen to me, if his mother hears about what happened today and you hurt him, I do not think even I would be safe in camp tonight," Prince Stafford stated. Arya looked at Stafford, and with turned away quickly. Without another word, she heaved Lion's Tooth into the river. The sword clanged the edge of the Trident and didn't move. Prince Stafford tried to hold back laughter, which finally made Prince Stafford seem like he usually was when Sansa had seen him.

Arya ran off to her horse, Nymeria loping at her heels. Stafford looked like he was going to follow Arya, but he hesitated. With the hesitation he started to approach his brother.

Sansa went to Prince Joffrey. His eyes were closed in pain, his breath ragged. Sansa knelt beside him. "Joffrey," she sobbed. "Oh, look what they did, look what they did. My poor prince. Don't be afraid. I'll ride to the holdfast and bring help for you." Tenderly she reached out and brushed back his soft blond hair. His eyes snapped open and looked at her, and there was nothing but loathing there, nothing but the vilest contempt.

"Then go," he spit at her. "And don't touch me." Then Stafford just lost it. Prince Stafford went at his own brother and landed a punch into his already swollen face.

"Don't you ever talk to her that way! She tried to show care for you and you react with hostility, Despicable!" Prince Stafford snarled with clear anger in his eyes. Sansa looked at Prince Stafford surprised at what he just did. Her gallant Prince Joffrey just rebuffed her care, and he defended her. But there was still a feeling that didn't quite settle right with her, Prince Joffrey seemed to act a little different now.

"Don't you dare hit me ever again! Do you not realize who I am?"

"I hate to break it you, but You're just a lonely star I try to bring you down, but a level isn't good enough. You always do as you believe, so I'm going to take a seat, and watch you fall apart 'Cause in the end What are you without me? I might be proud, but at least I'm proud of something You've taken pride in becoming nothing," He responded quite viciously. Prince Joffrey still with his hand on his bite tried to lunge at his brother. His brother responded by giving him another firm punch to the face.

"Stop it you two! Why are you both fighting at a time like this?!" Sansa exclaimed. The two princes turned back and looked at her. Stafford sighed and calmed down a bit.

"Sorry, lost my composure there. Just go get help for my dear brother here. And quickly, I might do some more damage to him if you don't hurry," Stafford stated. Sansa nodded in reply. As she looked back for a few seconds, when she ran to go get help, she saw a little exchange go on.

"You can't!" Prince Joffrey protested to which Stafford responded by giving his brother another backhand.

"One more word and I'll do more than just hit you," Stafford explained. Prince Joffrey whimpered and eventually backed down. Sansa hoped Prince Stafford would not kill his own brother before she can send for help.

* * *

Sansa was back in the camp now, after she had sent for help for Prince Joffrey. Since then, she hasn't seen either brother in the camp. In fact, she hasn't seen her sister Arya or her direwolf anywhere. Her father had rold her to stay within the camp, and not to wander around surrounding area. He also told her not to bother any of the royal family.

Sansa has waited four days for the return of her sister, and for some reason she was growing increasingly worried for her safety. The royal party had stayed at Lord Raymun Darry's castle to sort things out before moving on from the trident. Of course her father would not allow the King to move forward and make their way to King's Landing without having Arya found first. Not knowing what to do, she sat with her direwolf Lady and continued to think for a while. What had happened four days ago at the trident still stuck in her mind like a festering wound. She still could not get the thought out of her mind, at the events. She saw first hand the actions of her beloved Prince Joffrey, and found that he was a less than perfect person. She also saw the weaknesses of her brother, Prince Stafford, who in a high pressure situation can't seem to get along with someone who he generally doesn't get along with even in though that certain person is in dire need as well. Sansa didn't know what to believe in regards to what happened in the trident.

Part of her blamed Arya and the butcher's boy for being to adventurous and forcing the hand of Prince Joffrey. Part of her blamed Prince Stafford for encouraging the two to continue in Arya's less than lady like attributes. Part of her blamed Prince Joffrey for being to aggressive to the butcher's boy, forcing his brother to react in a way he always does when people threaten her sister, with violence. She was just torn with all of the events in the trident that she couldn't even think clearly anymore.

Suddenly a knock came to the door. She didn't know who it could be. Some of her wished it was Joffrey hoping he could comfort her and explain his actions in the trident. Or maybe it could be her father with news of Arya.

"It's open," Sansa stated to the person who knocked at the door.

"It's me, _Prince_ Stafford. Look I know we don't know much about each other, and I know I've been busy the past few days trying to explain myself to mother and father, but I just wanted to know how you were holding up after what happened," he stated as he opened the door. He seemed to loathe having to call himself Prince Stafford, like he hated the very notion of it. Sansa was shocked to have him at the door. Sansa never really talked to Prince Stafford, all she knew of him was that Arya was quite fond of him. He seemed like a mysterious enigma to her, someone she couldn't quite comprehend in truth.

"I wasn't expecting you, Prince Stafford," Sansa replied sitting at her bedside.

"If you wish to please just call me, Stafford. When I get called Prince Stafford it reminds me too much of those stuck up meetings with father's small council," Stafford stated.

"You're part of the small council?" Sansa asked amazed at the very prospect. Stafford was only a boy of fifteen, barely old enough to be considered a man. Stafford laughed.

"Of course not, I'm barely old enough to be in minor tournaments, what makes you think I'd be in a small council. No, I'm just the poor old sap, who gets to run messages from the small council to father. Great duty, I know," Stafford replied a little sarcastically. For a moment, Sansa let out a little giggle, but quickly tried to gain her composure so that Stafford wouldn't notice.

"Anyway, did you just come her to check up on me?" Sansa asked him. She was still a little puzzled at why Stafford would come to her.

. "In truth, not entirely, I'm still a bit curious about what you thought about the events that happened. With your sister missing, and everyone scrambling to try to find her, I'm just trying to paint a clearer picture of what happened," Stafford said. Sansa knew Stafford was curious about what she thought about in the trident.

"To be honest, I don't know what happened in the trident. You, Arya, Prince Joffrey, and that butcher's boy of hers just got into conflict, and suddenly out of nowhere Arya's wolf came and attacked Prince Joffrey. I thought it might have tried to attack both of you, because you had a weapon too, but it sensed you weren't trying to hurt Arya. Nymeria, might have not gotten the same feeling with Joffrey, though," Sansa recalled the events of the trident. Stafford nodded in reply.

"Same here, everything happened quickly, one second, I was teaching them how to use their blades. Then you and my brother showed up, Arya got a little worked up, Joffrey started to intimidate Mycah, and soon Arya struck Joffrey. I had to stop her from taking a hit from my own brother's sword, so I had to confront him with my axe. Before we could even get to that, Nymeria had bit my brother putting me in bad situation," Stafford stated. Stafford got up and paced the room a bit, clearly thinking about something.

"Mother's been enraged at what has happened to my brother. If my mother's men find her first, she could be facing some severe punishment. My mother is not known in the seven kingdoms for her mercy," Stafford stated. Sansa, a little shocked at what he just said about his own mother, wondered why he had to go to Sansa about this.

"Why do you have to come to me to tell me this?" Sansa asked genuinely curious on Stafford's motive for telling her. She wasn't Arya and there wasn't anything that she could think of that might help Arya avoid punishment from the events at the trident.

"Mother or father cannot trust my account for the events in the trident. Joffrey and I have too much history. My view may be biased in their eyes, which is damn near preposterous if you ask me. So, being the only other person in the trident, they will ask you about what happen. I beg of you do not implicate your sister with any of the accusations my brother has been bombarding mother with. Father doesn't believe all of it, but if you manage to support my brother in the slightest bit, he might be persuaded to my mother's side," Stafford explained to Sansa. Stafford seemed genuine in his care towards Arya's well being, in Sansa's mind. Stafford seemed like he didn't just see her as someone he was forced to wed, but as a friend as well. Yet she was torn apart, as she still thought about how Prince Joffrey would react if she had supported her sister. Stafford went out of his way just to tell him this, which is more gallant anything she's actually seen Joffrey do. Sure, all his stories seem to profess how gallant he was, and she still believed them. However, she believed less in the personality she thought Prince Joffrey had possessed when she saw him. Every action he took always took away from her original image of him, and that worried her.

"Stafford, I-" Sansa managed to reply before literally running out of words to say to him. It was like she felt like her mind had been torn to two sides. One that wanted to support her dear prince, who she was to wed someday, and one that wanted to support her family.

"It's okay, Sansa. I know you probably have some sort of care for my brother, and I understand that. Look, I just hope you don't blame Arya for any of this. You don't have to promise me to go against Joffrey when the time comes that they ask for your version of the events-"

Suddenly, the door swung open and Stafford turned around to see who it was. It was one of Stafford's mother's retainers. Sansa wondered why they would pay her a visit, especially during this hour, when she expected to spend time alone.

"Prince Stafford, I wasn't expecting to see you here," the retainer remarked as he stood at the door.

"Indeed, why are you here?" Stafford asked with a sort of aggressive tone in his voice. Almost everything Stafford did had some form of aggression attached to it. It was like he could not control his passion for something, and this transformed into an aggressive aura around him.

"Your mother, the queen, has sent for Lady Sansa to appear before the King. It seems her sister has finally been found," Stunned Stafford immediately started for the doorway.

"Remember our conversation, Sansa. I know you'll do the right thing in the end," Stafford stated as he went out of the doorway and out of sight. Reluctantly, Sansa went with the retainer to appear before the King. She hoped to the gods, that she would not have to choose between her prince and family during the appearance before the King. With the way Stafford responded, Sansa almost certainly thought that it would be about events at the trident. She remembered Stafford's words and they still rung in her ears.

By the time, Sansa reached the appropriation audience chamber, Raymun Darry once used as a his own before the king had come. Arya stood in the center of the room, alone but for Jory Cassel, every eye upon her. Stafford turned away not wishing to look at anything as he stood beside his father and Prince Joffrey.

"Arya," Her father called loudly. He went to her, his boots ringing on the stone floor. When Arya saw him, she cried out and began to sob

Her father went to one knee and took her in his arms. She was shaking. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." "I know," he said. It was hard to see how she had caused so much trouble. If someone like Stafford cause the same trouble Arya had, it would even be a stretch. It takes a unique person to stir up the trouble Arya did. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Her face was dirty, and her tears left pink tracks down her cheeks. Sansa saw Stafford smile a little, but then go back to his uncharacteristically serious face afterwards. Stafford's face looked intimidating when he wore it that way. It reminded her of a stern captain of the guard or some military leader right before a battle were to begin.

"What is the meaning of this?" Her father asked the King. Ser Raymun Darry guarded his look well. Lord Renly wore a half smile that might mean anything, and Ser Barristan was grave. "Why was I not told that my daughter had been found?" Ned demanded, his voice ringing. "Why was she not brought to me at once?"

Her spoke to the king, but it was the queen who answered. "How dare you speak to your king in that manner!"

At that, the king stirred. "Quiet, woman," he snapped. He straightened in his seat. "I am sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl. It seemed best to bring her here and get the business done with quickly."

"Father, why do you address my mother in that way?" Stafford suddenly stated. The King surprised at what his son had said to him, suddenly turned to him. His mother suddenly smiled when her own son came to her defense.

"Staff, there is already a lot on my mind, so please hold your tongue for a moment," The King stated surprisingly calm. Stafford also pretty uncharacteristic in his personality, resigned and went back to his state where he tuned out almost everyone. He just stared at no one blankly, Sansa found it to be a little eerie.

"And what business is that?" Ned put ice in his voice.

The queen stepped forward. "You know full well, Stark. This girl of yours attacked my son. Her and her butcher's boy. That animal of hers tried to tear his arm off."

That's not true," Arya said loudly. "She just bit him a little. He was hurting Mycah."

"Joff told us what happened," the queen said. "You and the butcher boy beat him with tournaments, his own brother gave while you set your wolf on him."

"That's not how it was," Arya said, close to tears again. Sansa could not bear to watch much of this conflict anymore.

"Yes it is!" Prince Joffrey insisted. "They all attacked me, and she threw Lion's Tooth in the river!"

"Liar!" Arya yelled.

"Shut up!" Prince Joffrey yelled back.

"Enough!" The King boomed

"If you had listened to me earlier, you would know that your dear son Joffrey attacked the butcher's boy first. I mean no disrespect mother, but you know full well, who has the final say in what truly happened," Stafford suddenly interjected, "My father, I most respectfully would like you to think for a moment, why would Arya and the butcher's boy attack my brother? They barely even knew her. But don't trust my word for it, there was another person at the trident, to tell of the events."

"Indeed," Her father had stated, "Sansa come here," Sansa felt her heart fall a little when she was called. She would have to give her testimony on the events of the trident. She did not know what to do or feel about the events, she was still torn. Stafford suddenly looked at her, stared at her intently, like he was waiting for her answer. Sansa blinked at her sister, and shifted to both of the princes. Stafford's face stood out, almost a little menacingly now. Her mind began to draw blank, she didn't know what to do or say.

"I don't know," she said tearfully, looking as though she wanted to bolt. "I don't remember. Everything happened so fast, I didn't see . . ."

"You rotten!" Arya shrieked. Stafford knew where this was going and Sansa, probably thought he knew this by experience. Before Arya could reach Sansa to pummel her to the ground, Stafford was there and intervened. He held her back.

"Liar, liar, liar, liar." She accused. Stafford had to hold her back hard. She was kicking and screaming and Stafford had to hold her waist to make sure she didn't kick out of his hold.

"Arya, stop it!" her father shouted.

"Arya it's not worth it, she's just a little flustered that's all," Stafford remarked.

"The girl is as wild as that filthy animal of hers," the queen said. "Robert, I want her punished." "Seven hells," Robert swore. "Cersei, look at her. She's a child. What would you have me do, whip her through the streets? Damn it, children fight. It's over. No lasting harm was done." The queen was furious.

"Joff will carry those scars for the rest of his life." Robert Baratheon looked at his eldest son. "So he will. Perhaps they will teach him a lesson. Ned, see that your daughter is disciplined. Iwill do the same with my son."

"Gladly, Your Grace,"

The king stopped, turned back, frowned. "I'd forgotten about the damned wolf."

Jory spoke up quickly. "We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace." Robert did not look unhappy. "

No? So be it." The queen raised her voice. "A hundred golden dragons to the man who brings me its skin!"

"A costly pelt," the king grumbled. "I want no part of this, woman. You can damn well buy your furs with Lannister gold." The queen regarded him coolly. "I had not thought you so niggardly. The king I'd thought to wed would have laid a wolfskin across my bed before the sun went down." the king's face darkened with anger.

"That would be a fine trick, without a wolf."

"We have a wolf," the queen said. Her voice was very quiet, but her green eyes shone with triumph. It took them all a moment to comprehend her words, but when they did, the king shrugged irritably. "As you will. Have Ser Ilyn see to it." It was that moment Sansa knew her indecision had cost her something she held dear.


	10. AGOT Arya II

**A/N: This chapter is the first repeat POV of a character other than Stafford. The character happens to be Arya, but Robb will gets repeat POV next after the Stafford's chapter. The voting results for the pairing poll is hidden to avoid bias. The polls, however are very close to let people know. This is another alternate POV to which instead of Eddard Stark having his umbrella POV in the novel.**

 **BrotherCaptainShepherd: Sansa's indecisiveness was what made it hard to portray in the POV. It was really hard to write it without making Sansa seem unlikeable. You explained my thought perfectly during that scene. Thank you for your review.**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Arya_

"Robert, you cannot mean this," Arya's father protested. Arya after already being relatively agitated got even more agitated at the prospect of her sister losing her direwolf. Sure, she had not stuck up for her, but having her wolf that she clearly cherished and cared for executed for something that it did not do also did not seem fair. It was Nymeria that bit Joffrey not Lady. The king seemed to be in no mood for more argument.

"Enough, Ned, I will hear no more. A direwolf is a savage beast. Sooner or later it would have turned on your girl the same way the other did on my son. Get her a dog, she'll be happier for it." he stated. Arya looked at Sansa and she noticed she finally had begun to comprehend the situation.

"He doesn't mean Lady, does he?" She saw the truth on his face. "No," she said. "No, not Lady, Lady didn't bite anybody, she's good . . ."

"Lady wasn't there," Arya shouted angrily. "You leave her alone!"

Suddenly, Stafford stepped up to his father's presence. Unabashed and unabated, he looked directly in his father's eyes. Arya thought for a boy of fifteen, Stafford had the bravery. For what Stafford lacked in age and experience, he compensated with an unyielding brave attitude, that he would get what he desired. Arya admired him more for that than any story Sansa's prince Joffrey could even make up.

"Father, her direwolf did nothing wrong. The direwolf wasn't even in present for the events that occurred in the trident. Where is the justice in striking down the innocent?" Stafford proclaimed. The entire court had their eyes on Stafford. Arya noticed Ser Barristan nod in approval at his comment. From what she had been told by Stafford at the trident, Ser Barristan had taught him more than just combat. It seems his ideals have spread into the young prince's heart.

"Stafford, you're brother was just brutalized by one of those beasts? Is that not justice to execute the kin of the very abomination that hurt him?" His mother the queen responded.

"Mother, I just don't see how that makes any sense. If I had committed a heinous crime and fled Westeros, and the Lord, for which I committed my heinous crime demanded the head of my brother to compensate for whatever I had done, is it not injustice?" Stafford retorted with aggression. His mother looked down at the ground almost speechless. However, she mustered the courage to look Stafford straight in the eye once more.

"If you had been attacked by the beast, you would understand how I would feel. If it had been you that had been hurt and brutalized by the beast, then I would have that beast cut down faster than even Ser Ilyn would execute a man. No one hurts any of my sons and walks unpunished," the queen proclaimed.

"Stop them," Sansa pleaded, "don't let them do it, please, please, it wasn't Lady, it was Nymeria, Arya did it, you can't, it wasn't Lady, don't let them hurt Lady, I'll make her be good, I promise, I promise . . ." She started to cry. All her father could do was take her in his arms and hold her while she wept. He looked across the room at the king. His old friend, closer than any brother. "Please, Robert. For the love you bear me. For the love you bore my sister. Please."

The king looked at them for a long moment, then turned his eyes on his wife. "Damn you, Cersei," he said with loathing. Stafford didn't budge, he still tried his hardest to defend Arya's family. Stafford sided with them against his own blood, which either says something about Stafford's loyalty to his family, or it was just his sense of justice. Arya thought the latter.

"Do it yourself then, Robert," he said in a voice cold and sharp as steel. "At least have the courage to do it yourself." Robert looked at Ned with flat, dead eyes and left without a word, his footsteps heavy as lead. Silence filled the hall. "Where is the direwolf?" Cersei Lannister asked when her husband was gone. Beside her, Prince Joffrey was smiling.

"Wipe that grin off your face, this isn't over. I will not allow this! However touches the damn wolf will have to answer to me! And by the seven my wrath is greater than even the mad king's madness," Stafford roared. He drew his sharp hand axe, and everyone in the room gasped at the sudden turn of events. Stafford began to back away slowly. Arya's father, Lord Eddard, looked stunned at the young man. The grin quickly waned from Joffrey's face

"Put that axe back where it belongs, Stafford," Ser Barristan declared as he approached him, "We will not tolerate violence in the audience chamber that we ourselves do not even own." Stafford stared at Ser Barristan, he wanted to respond, but Arya felt like Stafford couldn't bring himself to do it. She felt that Stafford had too much respect for the old knight. Very reluctantly, he dropped the axe on the ground. The sharp castle forged steel hand-axe clanged to the ground.

"Very good, Stafford at least your father taught you decency, unlike some other princes I know of," Ser Barristan declared, ""The beast is chained up outside the gatehouse, Your Grace." Arya felt deep reluctance in the voice of the old knight.

"Send for Ilyn Payne."

"No," Her said. "Jory, take the girls back to their rooms and bring me Ice." The words tasted of bile in his throat, but he forced them out. "If it must be done, I will do it."

The queen regarded him suspiciously. "You, Stark? Is this some trick? Why would you do such a thing?"

Her father drew a sigh with every man and ear tuned to whatever he would say. "She is of the north. She deserves better than a butcher." Sansa looked at her father, almost pleading for this not to happen.

"Seven hells, Joffrey I hope you're proud of what you have done. Look at what you are doing to the lady you are supposed to care for. If you had an inch of true care for her, you would not allow for something she cherished to be taken away like this. All I can say now is but words. I'm no king, I have no throne. Yet you're supposed to be the next king and you act selfish. She, honestly deserves better than you! In fact, I'll give you a more than just words to prove it!" Stafford boomed and almost on cue ran at his own brother. Before anyone can intervene, he landed a sharp blow to head of his brother.

Like ship in a hurricane, Joffrey fell to the floor dazed and stunned. Ser Barristan quickly broke things up before anything got escalated. Arya still felt like Joffrey had deserved that. Silence filled the entire audience chamber, with everyone stunned at what just transpired.

"Do whatever you want, I've given my piece and apparently everyone has given their decisions," Stafford stated. Without another word, he went over and picked up his axe that he had dropped on the floor of the audience chamber and stormed out of the room. Arya not wanting to stay in the audience chamber anymore, ran after him. Her father tried to stop her a little bit, but almost immediately gave up.

Arya managed to trail Stafford to where he finally ended up. He had to follow him all the way to the stables, where he sat on the ground right next to his horse. The horse was a fine destrier, which towered over the young boy, even if he stood up. Arya was surprised the king had given his son that quality horse, as many of the horses children usually didn't possess warhorses. Even if Stafford was fond of tournaments, and combat he had never actually been in a situation where he needed a fine bred warhorse. As soon as Arya went into the stables, Stafford immediately stared up at her. He had the look of confusion and it looked like the rage he had possessed earlier had all, but faded.

"Did I ever tell you the story about my horse?" Stafford asked as he continued to sit fiddling with the hay on the ground on the stables. Arya shook her head, Stafford had not talked about his horse, in fact the only time she had ever seen the horse was when he entered Winterfell, "His name's Orys, He was given to me as a foal as a name day present back when I was nine by my father. He was bred to be a warhorse, and we basically learned how to ride together. They harnessed him when he was two and from then on we basically grew up together. Six years after he was given to me we had been inseparable. When Joffrey had tried to ride him once, he got thrown off. No one else could ride him without him bucking and throwing them off." He got up from his seated position, brushed himself off, and began to pet the horse's forehead.

"That's fascinating, I didn't know horses were that smart. I always thought they were just mindless beasts that were controlled when they were ridden," Arya stated. She never thought horses were that smart, especially when they are the kind of beast that lets another living thing literally get on top of them, control them, and ride them for hours on end.  
"You'd be surprised, sometimes I think this horse is more competent than Joffrey at times," Arya laughed at this statement by Stafford. It wasn't like he was wrong at his statement, "The reason why I had to defend your family over mine today, is rooted with this horse. Your sister's care about the wolf reminded me of how much I cared about this horse. And I didn't want to see someone punished for something my brother had started."

"You really don't like your brother do you? I mean I don't blame you…" Arya stated. Arya felt like she didn't really have the best relationship with her sister, but it wasn't as bad as Stafford's relationship with his brother. The two did not really have any sort of common interests, they were always at each other's throats, and they never seemed to get along in any regard.

"I don't _hate_ my brother. I don't really like him either, but he's still kin. It pains me to have to hurt him sometimes, but I'm not much good at controlling myself. When I feel someone deserves something, even if they are kin, and I have the ability to give them what I feel they deserve, I gladly oblige," Stafford reasoned. Stafford began pacing around the stables, "Just listen to me ramble on and on. It's pathetic really."

Arya noticed Stafford pick up his axe. Stafford threw the short handaxe at the stable walls, sticking to the wood as it landed on the wall. The precision of the axe impressed Arya. Stafford had one of the best skill repertoires of any boy of his age. Her brothers were skilled, but Stafford a year younger had much more skill in the art of combat. Sure Stafford couldn't best everyone in the Seven Kingdoms or even the Free Cities, in fact he was far from it. What Stafford possessed that none of his betters in combat was the attitude of unyieldingness. The attitude to never give up even in the face of insurmountable odds. If Stafford were to lose or were not to get his way, he will make sure you still remembered him and how he tried to defend his stance.

"I kind of like listening to you ramble like that," she blurted out. Arya didn't know where that came from. It surprised even her that those words came out of her mouth. Stafford, a little surprised, turned to her and let out a little chuckle.

"Arya Stark, you never cease to surprise me. At least now I know King's Landing won't be so dull and boring," Stafford declared. He quickly grabbed the axe he used to throw at the wall of the stables, "I think we should get out of these stables and get some fresh air. Shall we?" Arya nodded in reply and they got out of the cramped horse stables, Stafford had stormed off into.

The castle gate had opened when Stafford and Arya had left the stables. Unlike some of the castles in the Riverlands, they stables were inside of the castle walls, because they wanted to make sure steeds, were secure in case of siege. Not only could they be kept safe for a cavalry charge to try to drive back the invaders in case they broke through, they were also kept there for their meat. If you were stuck in a siege, you would eat anything just to survive the predicament. Arya saw her father and Ser Jory with some mounted men, who looked like they were knights of some kind. The men were mounted on destrier about the same size as Stafford's, but much more compact and well built.

One of the men had something slung on his shoulders. Stafford and Arya drew closer to the men, and by the look on Stafford's face he recognized the man. And when they finally stood side by side with her father and Ser Jory, she started recognizing the man too. It was the burned man with Joffrey during the sparring sessions at Winterfell. Her father gave her a look to recognize that she was with them.

"Stafford, it's good to see you. We just got back from the hunt," the burned stated, "It looks like you found the girl. Good on you. We got her little pet, if she wants to see it." Arya dreaded those words. They had hunted down her direwolf and probably killed it. Her eyes began to tear up, and she felt like something had just gutted her in the belly.

"What did you do to it?" Stafford asked, who looked like he was beginning to tense up. Arya couldn't even muster a word. Deep sadness and feelings of confusion began to creep up on Arya. She could feel her chest tighten as the man flung whatever he had slung on his back.

It was the butcher's boy, Mycah, his body covered in dried blood. He had been cut almost in half from shoulder to waist by some terrible blow struck from above.

"You rode him down," Ned said. The Hound's eyes seemed to glitter through the steel of that hideous dog's-head helm.

"He ran." He looked at Ned's face and laughed. "But not very fast." Arya lost it and burst into tears.

"What in the seven hells is wrong with you? What did you ride down the butcher's boy for?" Stafford protested almost ready to use that axe he had in his hands

"Watch your tongue with me, lest you remember who helped teach you how to use that axe of yours. I know all your tricks, and I won't hesitate to cut you down to teach you a lesson," the burned man declared. Stafford still holding his ground against him looked at her. Arya was on the ground next to her butcher's boy crying. She couldn't believe how the man had just killed him in cold blood. Mycah did nothing, yet he was struck down and had his life cut short by the monstrous man. Arya tried to get herself together, if Stafford continued standing up to the man, he could get seriously hurt.

"Prove it then," Stafford brashly stated. The burned man laughed and dismounted his horse. He drew his sword on Stafford.

"Let's test your mettle with my live steel then!" the burned man taunted. Ser Jory tried to intervene.

"Alright enough you two, please before anyone gets themselves hurt or worse," Ser Jory stated. However, Ser Jory was shoved down to ground by the burned man. And the burned man clashed steel with Stafford's hand axe. Stafford went up and used his skills to try to deflect the man's blows. However, Arya could tell Stafford was having trouble with the strength of the blows he was deflecting. Stafford tried his hardest to respond with a barrage of axe. The burned man simply smiled.

Suddenly, the burned man timed one of the axe blows from Stafford, and was able to parry it to the side. He managed to land a slash to the side of Stafford. Stafford's boiled leather armor managed to protect him from any cuts. Stafford tried to come back at him with some more axe, but unsurprisingly, the burned man knew how Stafford's axe shots would land. He managed to predict where the axe would come from at just the right time. Arya suddenly snapped out of her daze, and drew up enough courage. Just as Stafford ran out of breath, the burned man sent his hand axe flying in the air.

"Stop!" Arya stated as she managed to put herself in between the burned man and Stafford. Her father, who had tried to stop the fight multiple times, suddenly almost sprung into action.

"It seems your lady has seen enough of your incompetence," the burned man mocked. He picked up Stafford's axe and handed it to him, "Next time match your bravado with some skill." Stafford snatched the axe away from the burned man, and still clearly looked enraged. Stafford drew some breaths, and Arya felt like he had calmed down at least enough to speak.

"Alright, besides hunting down the butcher's boy, what else did you do while hunting? Did you manage to find the other wolf like you were tasked?" Stafford asked the burned man. The burned man gave a quaint smile in reply.

"No, my dear prince. It seems like there is not a trace to be found of the beast. It seems it has run off to the wilderness where it belongs," the burned man stated. Arya still visibly upset after what he had done to Mycah almost felt like she wanted to run. But for some reason, she felt like she wanted to stay, to be face the truth. Mycah was dead, and there was nothing she could do about it. She still felt sad and in truth she felt responsible for his death. She had been the reason he had even been at the trident in the first place. Stafford shrugged a little bit and finally spoke.

"What's done is done. Just get that head out of sight, I think we've seen enough of that for today," Stafford stated. The burned man smiled and grabbed the head and wrapped it up in the cloth again.


	11. AGOT Stafford V

**A/N: Sorry for missing an upload on Wednesday, and for uploading so late on Thursday. It is about 11:40 where I am at when I published this, so I hope that it will upload before it becomes midnight. To make it up to everyone, I will upload on Friday and Saturday. This is one of the final chapters of the first act of the story, meaning the exposition is about to end and the rising action will begin shortly. There will be an OC introduced that will signal the beginning of the rising action, and every chapter in the rising action will contribute to the climax and have plenty of action. This is Stafford's last chapter of the act, but he will receive the second POV of the second act and will of course be a focus character in the act. Again sorry, for the late upload, and hope you continue to read, vote on the pairing poll, and leave criticism of the work. My collaborators and I will only get better with feedback, so if there is something you don't like about the novel, if there's something you like.**

 _Stafford_

Stafford was glad the long journey from Winterfell to King's Landing had concluded. The hours and hours on end of riding had bored and tired him. He dreamed of crashing down on his bed and just laying there for awhile. He wanted to zone out and think of nothing, and try to forget about what happened at the trident. He just lay in his room, located of course in Old King's Maegor's Holdfast, where everyone stayed within the Red Keep. Stafford just blankly stared up at the ceiling, not really knowing what else to do. His bones felt the fatigue of the journey he had just undergone. Stafford felt his mind whirling around in circles after the events that transpired in the trident. An innocent girl's prized pet taken away from her by his own mother, a young boy cut down in cold blood, and the growing uneasiness in the castle walls. Stafford couldn't bear to the think that it would happen along the way. The Starks and the Lannister's were already at odds with one another, and what was worse he was caught up in it. He himself, had the blood of the Lords of Casterly Rock coursing through his veins, yet he had sympathies towards the Starks. He hoped none of the tension would break out causing a flurry of damage towards both sides. Stafford hoped to the seven, he wouldn't have to play messenger for the small council today. He had enough of sending messages back and forth from the Grand Maester and father, who apparently had no interest in ruling the kingdom.

His thoughts were interrupted with a knock on the door. Who in the seven hells could that be. Stafford thought to himself. He had even rode ahead of the party and skipped the gallantries of the King reentering King's Landing. Stafford didn't really care for all that right now, all he wanted to do was rest. It certainly couldn't be Ser Barristan, he was riding next to his King, or Stafford's father to be exact. Joffrey was to busy in the royal wheelhouse, no doubt still a bit rattled by the amount of confrontations they had along the way, so he couldn't be the one at the door. Let alone him visiting Stafford would be totally out of character. Stafford couldn't understand Joffrey, there were many people in King's Landing, who didn't like Stafford, but none of them showed it as much as his own brother. Stafford could not tell whether, it was just blind hatred or envy. He didn't really care to be honest, what difference does his brother make in his life anyway? Sure he's kin, and Stafford stood by his own kin well enough, but when his kin hated him as much as his father hated Rhaegar Targaryen, it was hard for him to figure out how to even remotely care for him. He was clueless in who could be knocking on his door at this time.

"Who knocks?" Stafford managed to sigh as he looked towards his door. Whoever it was, it had better be important.

"Your uncle," a stern voice replied. That voice could only belong to one person. Stafford knew it belonged to his uncle Stannis Baratheon, the second eldest son of his grandfather Steffon. Stafford, begrudgingly got up from lying down on the bed, and unlocked the door. He opened the door to see his uncle there, not in any armor meaning he had stayed in King's Landing for some reason and didn't go to Dragonstone like he had stated before Stafford and his family left for Winterfell. Of all his uncles, Stafford looked the most like Stannis. Sure, some people mistake Renly for his father all the time, but most people could not deny the eerie resemblance Stannis had with Stafford. They had the same blue eyes and very similar tight face structure, except Stafford's was much less stern and a little more regal. Stafford also had quite a bit more hair on his head than his uncle. Stafford looked much more like his Baratheon uncles than he did than his Lannister ones. This was opposite with Tommen, Myrcella, and Joffrey, but it was that way with the Starks too. All of the children, except Arya took more of their features from their mother.

"Uncle Stannis, I thought you'd be at Dragonstone by now. Why are you still in King's Landing?" Stafford asked. Uncle Stannis always went back to Dragonstone, once or twice a year and he decided to take the liberty to so, when they left for King's Landing.

"A certain death and new appointment in the King's Landing made those plans change," Stannis stated, "Anyway, Lord Eddard Stark had just arrived to the small council and Grand Maester Pyrcelle called for you."

"Let me guess, I need to play messenger to my father, so I need to carefully take notes while you take care of matters of the realm. Then, I will relay them to my father once he arrives to the castle, only to have most of my messages ignored unless there is a talk of feasting or Targaryens involved," Stafford managed to ramble.

"Indeed, it seems you are getting used to the role of messenger. Come, the meeting will start as soon Lord Eddard Stark arrives, if he decides to arrive," Stannis managed to reply. Stafford and Stannis had a relationship based on mutual respect. Stafford knew Stannis knew how to get things done, and Stannis knew Stafford behind the boisterous, non serious aura he gave, Stafford would step up when it mattered. Stafford and Stannis were by no means the closest of friends or even acted like kin with one another, but they both knew they could depend on each other when it mattered.

Without another word Stafford nodded and followed his uncle to where the King's small council met. Stafford wasn't a member of his father's small council nor did he advise the small council in any way. All he did was send messages about the meetings to his father and the small council, and inform him at what was going on in the small council chamber. Stafford did not want to be involved in this small council business at all. He wasn't sharp or that well informed in any of the matters they discussed, but he was very observant and could pick up anything the small council had talked about or mentioned. Jon Artyn had made him do this before he had died, because King Robert spent more time with Stafford rather than Joffrey. He wasn't wrong about that, but Stafford still felt his father never even managed to listen to the small councils messages to him in the first place.

When they got into the chamber, the hand had not been there yet. The chamber was richly furnished. Myrish carpets covered the floor instead of rushes, and in one corner a hundred fabulous beasts cavorted in bright paints on a carved screen from the Summer Isles. The walls were hung with tapestries from Norvos and Qohor and Lys, and a pair of Valyrian sphinxes flanked the door, eyes of polished garnet smoldering in black marble faces. There stood the rest of the members of the small council. Varys, the master of whispers, controlled most of the spies and heard many things that happened within the city walls and around the Seven Kingdoms. No rumor was safe from the 'Spider' as he had been called. Next came the master of coin, Petyr Baelish. Stafford encountered and knew the man very little outside of official royal business. He had only ever seen him in the small council that he was compelled to observe to relay messages to his father, and sometimes whenever someone request the King and his council's audience, which was rare in times of peace. Lord Baelish was a man of short stature, Stafford stood much taller than him, almost half a foot taller than Lord Baelish, but slightly half his age. Lord Baelish had a unique pointed beard, and a slender build, which were two things besides his height that Stafford seemed to noticed. While Stafford seemed a little stocky and broad shoulder, Lord Baelish was as slender as a knife. Stafford felt that Lord Baelish was a friendly man, and made a great part of the small council. At the other end of the room was Grand Maester Pycelle. This was the same man, who had taught Stafford how to read and write, although it took him longer than most people to teach the young man how to do these things. Pycelle always told him that the gods give men talents and the works of the mind were not his. He did, however, say that what he lacked in raw intellect was replaced by great passion and hard work in whatever he did, which in turn made Stafford far from a dunce. He wasn't the brightest scholar nor did he want to be one, however. Stafford always knew it was the Grand Maester when he saw his long snowy beard.

"Took you two long enough, now we wait for the new hand," he heard someone declare. He knew it could only belong to his uncle Renly, who stood there in deep green velvet. He really did pay attention to his attire, unlike Stafford, who always somehow found a way to incorporate only black and yellow into his clothing. Some people told him he looked like a bee sometimes, but Stafford thought fashion was something left to those who prefer the pursuits of beauty rather than aspiring warriors and princes. It seemed a waste of time to think about your appearance, but instead time should be spent thinking about what you have achieved worthy to note. A noteworthy appearance doesn't mean someone is noteworthy at all. Just look at Joffrey, Stafford thought. Many people in the keep think him handsome, and princely, but in private he does not do anything noteworthy at all besides complain to their mother.

"You know me, uncle. I wouldn't miss another one of these drab boring small council meetings, even if Prince Aegon Targaryen were to come back from the dead, magically be my age, and challenge me to a duel to avenge his fallen father," Stafford jested. His uncle Renly chuckled, while his other uncle Stannis remained solemn and serious.

"Ha, I'd bet you'd rather be with your lady than be in any of these meetings. Are you lonely and alone, because she has not arrived in King's Landing yet?" His uncle Renly jokingly responded referring to Arya, "I heard you even went axe to blade with a man like Sandor Clegane just because something he did made her go to tears. Honestly, I don't know what it is with anyone or anything related to Robert Baratheon, that makes them so attached to Starks." Stafford grew red a little, Renly had been joking with him about Arya ever since they had met up with the royal procession at the trident. He always definitely talked about how he remembered when he was a boy of eight and how they both looked like Robert and Lyanna when they were younger. Stafford brushed off that joke, but thought about it for a moment. He was a dead ringer of his father from before the rebellion only about five years younger and Arya did remind her of the description his father had given him of Lyanna, which he had mentioned to him a few times albeit he was usually very drunk, which could have made her beauty feel a little more exaggerated than it was.

"You talk quite the storm uncle, maybe we should settle this with steel?" Stafford jokingly suggested.

"And have to floor you on the ground multiple times, no thank you. I'd rather not get into trouble with your mother for beating you up beyond recognition," Renly mockingly replied.

"Do I have to remind you what happened at Storm's End during our sparring match?" Stafford brought up with a little pride and dignity in his eyes. Renly's face went blank, Stafford probably thought he realized he had walk straight into that one. Stafford had beaten Renly thoroughly in five straight sparring matches at Storm's End, when Renly had decided to see whether Ser Barristan had actually trained him well or not.

"Those matches were based on luck," Renly stated slightly seriously, but even Stannis the master of emotions, could see that he didn't really mean what he said. He was just not going to out right say, that he somehow lost to a boy of fifteen in sparring matches.

"If beating you five straight times is dumb luck, then maybe I should do some more with the dumb luck than just beat you uncle," Stafford stated sarcastically. Renly couldn't contain himself and started laughing and so did Stafford. This is why most of the time, the Grand Maester and Lord Arryn had to separate Stafford and Renly, because they would just joke around with another during the entire meeting.

"Renly, Stafford, can you both stop acting like children for a moment and compose yourselves. The hand could arrive any moment now and if he sees a member of our small council, especially the master of laws joking around with the messenger, who is only a boy of fifteen, he might starting doubting competence," Stannis scolded them both. Renly simply rolled his eyes.

"Brighten up, brother. Of course we won't act this way with the hand present, Isn't that right, Staff?" Renly stated as he elbowed Stafford.

'Sure, dear uncle, whatever you say," Stafford replied. Suddenly the closed chamber doors opened. Lord Eddard Stark had finally arrived and Stafford took his position of observation. He wasn't going to be doing any talking or suggesting for the meeting. He was simply there to help relay what is being discussed to his father, who was almost never there in the meetings. His father left most of the care of the realm to the small council and to the hand of the king. Poor Jon Arryn had to take care of so much of the realm when he was still living. He hoped the burden of having to run Westeros would not transfer to Lord Eddard Stark. He didn't want him to be overworked like the previous hand of the king.

"Lord Stark, I was grievous sad to hear about your troubles on the kingsroad. We have all been visiting the sept to light candles for Prince Joffrey. I pray for his recovery." Varys stated as he put a hand on Lord Eddard's shoulder and quickly retracted it. Stafford noticed it had left powdered stains on his sleeve.

"Your gods have heard you," Ned replied, cool yet polite. "The prince grows stronger every day." He soon turned across the room and turned to where Renly and Stafford were standing with Stannis.

"I see you have arrived safely, Lord Stark," his uncle Renly said.

"And you as well," Lord Eddard replied. He then quickly turned to Stafford, quite surprised that he was even in the small council meeting room, "Don't tell me your father has you serving on the small council at such a young age?"

"With gladness, not Lord Stark. I'm here to deliver messages to my father about the progress of the meetings, what was discussed, and such things," Stafford stated. Lord Eddard looked relieved and worried at the same time with the response. He probably caught onto what he had hinted at with his statement. But it looked like he shrugged it off and moved on to something else. He seemed tired from the journey and had no wish to be in a small council meeting as of the moment. Stafford wanted nothing to do of a meeting of the small council after such a long journey from the North. They had to trek through a vast region of Westeros and now that they finally got to King's Landing, there was still plenty left to be done. No wonder his father wanted nothing to do with ruling the kingdom.

"Forgive me, how do you do Lord Stannis? It's just odd to see so much Baratheons in one room. I mean, Stafford and Renly look so much like Robert, it seems like there are two copies of Robert in the room with us," Lord Eddard declared. Stannis simply nodded in reply not keeping out of his attitude of seriousness. Stafford knew when Stannis was serious, he was not going to bother with petty introductions. He was a man of custom, and tradition, but when he felt the custom on tradition had no purpose whatsoever, he didn't really follow it.

"A poor copy," Renly said with a shrug.

"I don't know father's a little taller and wider than I am," Stafford also shrugged.

"Though much better dressed," Littlefinger quipped. "Lord Renly spends more on clothing than half the ladies of the court. Stafford on the other hand could pass as a doppleganger. Just make him grow a beard and you got Robert standing before your very eyes."

"There are worse crimes," Renly said with a laugh. "The way you dress, for one."

Lord Baelish ignored the jibe. He eyed Ned with a smile on his lips that bordered on insolence. "I have hoped to meet you for some years, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me to you."

"She has," Ned replied with a chill in his voice. The sly arrogance of the comment rankled him. "I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well."

Stafford and Renly burst into laughter. Stafford dropped the parchment, he had in his hands as well as his quill slight notes on the introductions. Stannis quickly eyed the two, but let it slide, and Varys quickly shuffled over to listen to the conversation.

Rather too well," Lord Baelish said. "I still carry a token of his esteem. Did Brandon speak of me too?"

"Often, and with some heat," Lord Eddard stated said, hoping that would end it. Stafford clearly saw that the conversation was a dance of words. Lord Baelish and Lord Eddard had history it seemed.

"I should have thought that heat ill suits you Starks," Lord Baelish said. "Here in the south, they say you are all made of ice, and melt when you ride below the Neck."

"I do not plan on melting soon, Lord Baelish. You may count on it." Ned moved to the council table and said, "Maester Pycelle, I trust you are well." The Grand Maester smiled gently from his tall chair at the foot of the table.

"Well enough for a man of my years, my lord," he replied, "yet I do tire easily, I fear." Wispy strands of white hair fringed the broad bald dome of his forehead above a kindly face.

Perhaps we might begin soon," the Grand Maester said, hands knitting together atop his broad stomach. "I fear I shall fall asleep if we wait much longer."

"As you will." The king's seat sat empty at the head of the table, the crowned stag of Baratheon embroidered in gold thread on its pillows. Lord Eddard took the chair beside it, as the right hand of his king. "

My lords," he said formally, "I am sorry to have kept you waiting."

"You are the King's Hand," Varys said. "We serve at your pleasure, Lord Stark." Stafford finally had to get down to business and prepared for the notes that he would have to take about the meeting. This would surely be good.

"Well now that everyone is here, take your seats," Lord Eddard stated, and the small council complied. Stafford was already sitting down in his customary seat, outside of the where the main council was, but it was enough to where he could see everything and hear all the words of the council.

"Perhaps we had best wait for Ser Barristan and the king to join us," Ned suggested.

His uncle Renly laughed aloud. "If we wait for my brother to grace us with his royal presence, it could be a long sit. This is precisely why we have young Stafford over there to relay messages back and forth,"

"Our good King Robert has many cares," Varys said. "He entrusts some small matters to us, to lighten his load."

"What Lord Varys means is that all this business of coin and crops and justice bores my royal brother to tears," his uncle Renly said, "so it falls to us to govern the realm. He does send us a command from time to time." Stafford didn't really know why, but it seemed to always be true. His father never appeared before the council in a while, but he did send orders from time to time, but Stafford always told his uncle Renly what the orders were. He remembered telling Renly about one of his father's rare commands, and it caused Renly and him to ride ahead. Stafford didn't remember what it was, but something inside him felt excited about it, but he had been engrossed in joke and mocking sessions with his uncle Renly, when they were riding ahead, that it caused him to forget what order he had told his uncle Renly to deliver. Stafford knew this was what the meeting was about, but he couldn't remember what. All he remembered is he delivered a wax sealed paper to his uncle and they rode ahead of his father this morning.

He drew a tightly rolled paper from his sleeve and laid it on the table. "This morning, his son Stafford delivered a command from his father to ride ahead with all haste and ask Grand Maester Pycelle to convene this council at once. He has an urgent task for us."

"Gods be good," he swore. "What Lord Eddard means to say," Lord Renly announced, "is that His Grace instructs us to stage a great tournament in honor of his appointment as the Hand of the King."

"How much?" asked Lord Baelish, mildly. Ned read the answer off the letter. "Forty thousand golden dragons to the champion. Twenty thousand to the man who comes second, another twenty to the winner of the melee, and ten thousand to the victor of the archery competition."

"Ninety thousand gold pieces," Littlefinger sighed. "And we must not neglect the other costs. Robert will want a prodigious feast. That means cooks, carpenters, serving girls, singers, jugglers, fools . ." Stafford still stunned at hearing news of a tournament, finally felt the excitement rush through him again. In major tournaments in King's Landing his father had always allowed him to compete in the axe throwing competition. No one had ever beaten Stafford in axe throwing ever since they had started holding those competitions on his thirteenth nameday. Some say, they made those competitions just, because Stafford was so good at throwing the damn axes. However, there was also a sudden dread in Stafford as he began scrawling down the notes in his piece of parchment.

"Fools we have in plenty," Lord Renly said.

"I second that," Stafford muttered enough for only Renly to hear. Renly chuckled a bit under his breath, but Stannis caught it.

"Something the matter, brother?" Stannis stated.

"Nothing," Renly stated as he composed himself a little.

Grand Maester Pycelle looked to Littlefinger and asked, "Will the treasury bear the expense?"

"What treasury is that?" Littlefinger replied with a twist of his mouth. "Spare me the foolishness, Maester. You know as well as I that the treasury has been empty for years. I shall have to borrow the money. No doubt the Lannisters will be accommodating. We owe Lord Tywin some three million dragons at present, what matter another hundred thousand?" Stafford thought the number was close to four million, but he guessed he was mistaken. Still three million dragons was a debt very hard to get out of.

Lord Eddard was stunned. "Are you claiming that the Crown is three million gold pieces in debt?"

"The Crown is more than six million gold pieces in debt, Lord Stark. The Lannisters are the biggest part of it, but we have also borrowed from Lord Tyrell, the Iron Bank of Braavos, and several Tyroshi trading cartels. Of late I've had to turn to the Faith. The High Septon haggles worse than a Dornish fishmonger."

Lord Eddard was aghast, not doubt upset at what he had just heard "Aerys Targaryen left a treasury flowing with gold. How could you let this happen? I will not believe Jon Arryn allowed for this to happen."

Grand Maester Pycelle shook his great bald head, his chains clinking softly. "Lord Arryn was a prudent man, but I fear that His Grace does not always listen to wise counsel."

"I will speak with His Grace," Ned said. "This tourney is an extravagance the realm cannot afford."

"Speak to him as you will," Lord Renly said, "we had still best make our plans."

"Another day," Lord Eddard said. Perhaps too sharply, from the looks they gave him. He would have to remember that he was no longer in Winterfell, where only the king stood higher; here, he was but first among equals.

"Forgive me, my lords," he said in a softer tone. "I am tired. Let us call a halt for today and resume when we are fresher." He did not ask for their consent, but stood abruptly, nodded at them all, and made for the door. Stafford was just glad the damn council meeting was over, and his uncle Stannis looked over to Stafford.

"You best deliver what little we discussed to your father once he gets, here. In the meantime, do whatever you wish. You can even go back to your quarters if you'd like," Stannis stated.

"I heard the rest of the Starks have also arrived, giving you plenty of time to fraternize with your little special friend of yours before the day is done," His uncle Renly jested. Stafford was about to make a joke, but felt it would be of bad taste as Renly's personal habits were not supposed to be discussed in the small council. The members of the small council began to ease up and some even, Lord Baelish began to leave the chamber. Stafford excused himself from his uncles and left the small council chambers.

Stafford managed to get out of the stuffy little small council chambers and made his way back to his quarters. Outside, wagons and riders were still pouring through the castle gates, and the yard was a chaos of mud and horseflesh and shouting men. It was true, the Starks had arrived. Stafford wondered where Arya was, probably wandering around exploring the castle. She hasn't been the best of mood of late after Mycah had died. She still spent a lot of time with Stafford, who noticed her a little less energetic a little more brooding every minute they spent together. Stafford didn't blame her, a lot happened during their journey to Winterfell that can change even the toughest of men or women. Yet, Stafford felt like she was still her the same girl he met in Winterfell, almost not yielding her personality no matter what happened during her life. Stafford thought about this has he was about leave the open air, but he stopped when he heard a familiar voice call for him.

"Stafford! Wait for me," he heard her call. He turned around and saw Arya, still dressed in whatever she wore as she travelled the Kingsroad.  
"I knew it was you as soon as I heard your voice," Stafford stated.

"So where are you going," Arya asked.

"Back to my room, probably going to take a long nap," Stafford replied.

"Oh, well, I thought we could go practice with our swords," Arya stated. As Arya was about to turn around, Stafford had a little change of heart.

"Wait, I'll spar with you. Be prepared, just because I'm tired right now, doesn't mean I'm going take it easy on you," Stafford stated.

"I don't need you to, besides I think I can beat you today," Arya declared. Stafford chuckled a little bit. It was the same line she always repeated before their sparring matches, but she had never beaten him. Stafford, admired her boldness and bravery however. And one thing was for certain, she put up a better fight than Joffrey ever would.


	12. AGOT Robb II

**A/N: I'm sorry about not being able to upload all weekend, but there was a big family gathering where we all went to the state fair. It really messed up my writing schedule, and I was unable to finish Robb's chapter on time without sacrificing much quality. This is the first chapter of the story where Stafford does not appear and is only mentioned. This is a relatively short chapter, and I'm sorry for that, but the chapters will get longer during the second Act of the story and will get especially longer in the third act. This might even be the shortest chapter of all the chapters I have written so far, but the next one might be a bit more comprehensive. And after the next chapter when act two begins, another OC will be introduced and will be the final one until one of the current OC's gets killed off (hint: one of the OCs will die in the end of the story). Anyway thanks for reading the chapter, and please continue voting on the polls.**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Robb_

It had been more than a month since the soldiers had left Winterfell, and Robb had been left with his mother to oversee the castle and the North. Robb had the assistance of Ser Rodrik and other important people, like the maester, but that didn't stop the flow of stress and hard work coming from him with every passing day. Much of him also missed the company of Jon, Arya, and Sansa, who had gone off to either the South or in the case of Jon, farther on in the north to become a night's watchman. Robb worried for his half brother, but in the end he couldn't see anything more honorable than the Night's Watch for someone like Jon. As for Sansa, he was worried about how the Prince Joffrey would treat her. If he was anything that he showed during their sparring matches in the courtyard, then Robb didn't feel as though Joffrey would even remotely take good care of his sister. Joffrey had been the biggest little brat he had come to know of, arrogant, and big-headed as they come. Arya, on the other hand, also had someone she had been betrothed to, whom Robb thought more of. Stafford Baratheon, although not the most fair tempered, and a little more than boisterous, had more honor and was easily more likeable than his brother. Although Robb didn't know him very well, Stafford seemed like he wouldn't mistreat his sister, and they had certainly spent their fair share of time with one another within Winterfell. Robb sensed that Stafford genuinely cared for her as a friend, which he didn't see with Joffrey.

But now, Robb was alone, his mother gone after what had happened to Bran. Robb didn't know why, but after he had gone to help after a fire had broke out within the Castle walls someone decided for it to be the perfect opportunity to take the life of his brother. If his mother hadn't been there to risk her life in killing the assailant, Bran would have very well have died. Robb could only remember it vividly, although he would not like to.

 _About a month ago_

" _My son lies here broken and dying, Luwin, and you wish to discuss a new master of horse? Do you think I care what happens in the stables? Do you think it matters to me one whit? I would gladly butcher every horse in Winterfell with my own hands if it would open Bran's eyes, do you understand that? Do you?" Her mother had exclaimed, not noticing Robb enter the room._

 _Maester Luwin bowed his head. "Yes, my lady, but the appointments —"_

" _I'll make the appointments," Robb said. He stood in the doorway, looking at her She quickly resigned herself and calmed down. Robb could tell she had been through a lot in the passing day. Robb could tell the fatigue of having to deal with the issues plaguing her mind as she continued have to bear the possibility of having to live without Bran. Bran had been important to both her, and Robb and he couldn't possibly imagine the pain she had been going through. To think an innocent boy, barely even old enough to ride a horse, would be hanging on the rope of life, after such a harrowing event. The towers of Winterfell were quite high._

 _Maester Luwin looked from Catelyn to her son. "I have prepared a list of those we might wish to consider for the vacant offices," he said, offering Robb a paper plucked from his sleeve. Robb reviewed some of the names of the people, and gave it back to the Maester._

" _Good men," he said. "We'll talk about them tomorrow."_

" _Very good, my lord." The paper vanished into his sleeve. "Leave us now," Robb said. Maester Luwin bowed and departed. Robb closed the door behind him and turned to her, "Mother, what are you doing?"_

" _What am I doing?" she echoed, puzzled. "How can you ask that? What do you imagine I'm doing? I am taking care of your brother. I am taking care of Bran." Robb couldn't believe how his mother had still not left the sickroom ever since Bran had fell off the tower. She had eaten her meals, and done most of everything from inside the sickroom. Robb didn't want his mother to stay in this catatonic state._

" _Is that what you call it? You haven't left this room since Bran was hurt. You didn't even come to the gate when Father and the girls went south." Robb stated a little harshly._

" _I said my farewells to them here, and watched them ride out from that window," his mother stated,"I can't leave him, even for a moment, not when any moment could be his last. I have to be with him, if … if ." She began to trail off and Robb could feel the intense sadness in her voice. Robb could understand why her mother had been acting this way. Sooner or later, she would have to accept what will happen to Bran will happen. He could stay asleep for months or even years, and he wasn't about let his own mother rot in the sickroom not accepting the fate of her son. While it his hard to move on and accept what would happen, and if Robb were in his mother's position, he wouldn't either, it is often the best thing to do. Besides, with her staying with Bran all the time, poor Rickon seems to think he had been abandoned what happened._

" _He's not going to die, Mother. Maester Luwin says the time of greatest danger has passed." Robb explained._

" _And what if Maester Luwin is wrong? What if Bran needs me and I'm not here?" his mother retorted_

" _Rickon needs you," Robb said sharply. "He's only six, he doesn't understand what's happening. He thinks everyone has deserted him, so he follows me around all day, clutching my leg and crying. I don't know what to do with him." He paused a moment, chewing on his lower lip the way he'd done when he was little. "Mother, I need you too. I'm trying but I can't . . . I can't do it all by myself."_

 _Outside the tower, a wolf began to howl. His mother trembled, just for a second. "Bran's." Robb opened the window and let the night air into the stuffy tower room. The howling grew louder. It was a cold and lonely sound, full of melancholy and despair. Soon enough, Robb heard his own wolf Grey Wind and Rickon's wolf Shaggydog join in._

" _Make them stop!" she cried. "I can't stand it, make them stop, make them stop, kill them all if you must, just make them stop!" Suddenly his mother fell to the floor, and it caused Robb to have to catch his mother._

" _Don't be afraid, Mother. They would never hurt him." He helped her to her narrow bed in the corner of the sickroom. "Close your eyes," he said gently. "Rest. Maester Luwin tells me you've hardly slept since Bran's fall."_

" _I can't," she wept. "Gods forgive me, Robb, I can't, what if he dies while I'm asleep, what if he dies, what if he dies . . ." The wolves were still howling. She screamed and held her ears again. "Oh, gods, close the window!" Robb couldn't bear the sight of seeing his mother like this. All she clearly wanted was her son to live, and the uncertainty of his fate made her even more anxious and restless. Robb knew she was tired, but she wanted to make sure Bran would survive to the best of her abilities. Robb thought however, that she shouldn't ruin her life just because of how Bran was. Bran wouldn't want to see her like this, she needed rest to clear her mind of what was happening around her._

" _If you swear to me you'll sleep." Robb went to the window, but as he reached for the shutters another sound was added to the mournful howling of the direwolves. "Dogs," he said, listening. "All the dogs are barking. They've never done that before . . ."_

 _Suddenly, Robb realized with dread what was happening,"Fire!"_

" _Help me," she said urgently, sitting up. "Help me with Bran." Robb did not seem to hear her._

" _The library tower is on fire," he said. "Mother, stay here. I'll come back as soon as the fire's out." He ran then. Outside, there were shouts of "Fire!" in the yard, screams, running footsteps, the whinny of frightened horses, and the frantic barking of the castle dogs. Robb quickly began to bark commands to the people to help take the fire out. After a long arduous process of putting out the flames with water. Robb quickly began to take inventory of what was lost in the fire. He went to Ser Rodrik, who had also helped put out some of the flames._

" _Did anyone perish in the fire?" Robb asked._

" _No, M'Lord, the fire wasn't major. But there is some evidence that the flames was set on purpose," Ser Rodrik stated in reply. Robb wondered why someone would set the library tower on fire on purpose. There was hardly anyone there at any given point, but then he realized with a thought of dread what could have been a motive. He needed to get back to his mother and Bran as soon as possible._

" _Ser Rodrik, gather some men and bring them here," Robb ordered. Ser Rodrik without another word followed and as quickly as he had gone returned with much more men than he had asked._

" _Good, come with me to the sickroom. Someone might have paid a visit there while we were dealing with a fire," Robb explained as they began to make the short trek to the sick room._

 _Once they got to the sickroom, Robb and Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik burst in with half the guards in Winterfell. As Robb expected, something had gone on in the sickroom while he was away putting out the fire. His mother was on the ground in front of Bran's bed, and she was pretty badly cut up. His mother was laughing hysterically, but Robb didn't understand why. She truly needed rest now. Robb saw there was also a dead body in the room, and it already smelled putrid, like a latrine. Robb saw that Bran's direwolf lay next to him in his bed, which wasn't really that surprising._

" _Have people see that my mother's wounds are taken care of. I need to get to the bottom of this," Robb stated. Why would anyone attack Bran and his mother?_

Now his mother had left for King's Landing to investigate, who the owner of the dagger truly was. Ser Rodrik and her had left leaving him with Maester Luwin to run the castle while they were gone. Things got harder on Robb, but he felt like it only made him a better person and leader. It would prepare him for things to come in his mind.

Robb had been wandering the castle and exploring different places. He decided to visit the place where the king's family had stayed while at Winterfell. This might hold some clues as to who the perpetrators were. He didn't seem to trust the Lannisters much, and the Baratheon's seem harmless. However, if the Lannisters tried to do anything, there could be clues in the places their guests stayed at. Robb started with the room, the King and Queen stayed at, but everything was all in order. The bed was made, and there was no mess to be found in the room. There was no stray belongings, or there was nothing to indicate anything had been planned to hurt Bran.

Robb looked at the royal children's temporary quarters, He checked on Joffrey's room first, and then Stafford's, but none of them had anything of note. There was something in Stafford's room that he seemed to have forgotten. It was a tiny booklet, and it looked like the cover had aged a little bit. Robb curious opened it up and read something in it. It turned out to be a journal and judging from the dates, the person, who he assumed was Stafford from the contents of the events, wrote in it for almost two years sporadically, until he had run out of room. The last date he had on here was exactly the day, Bran fell off the tower.

 _Fourth day of the third moon, 298 AC_

 _A lot happened today,, so there might be a lot written in here. Well, what can I say? First a bear assaults me during the hunt, and then a small child managed to fall from the tower. There's a lot on my mind, and words can't really express or even remotely explain what I feel right now. One thing is for certain, there is definitely something that caused that fall, and I don't think little Brandon lost his grip on the castle walls and fell off. I used to climb when I was a child and I never fell off any tower, and I was climbing the damned Red Keep. I don't know if he was pushed by someone, someone purposely threw something at him to make him fall down, and frankly I don't want to know how they did it. My question is why would someone do this? Did they have a grudge on poor Brandon, no that's just nonsense. I don't know if it is just paranoia, or I'm actually right about this, but by the seven, there should not be this much going on in a day…._

Robb continued reading, but most of the other parts were just ramblings about how mad Stafford got at his brother over a conversation over dinner, his little accident in axe practice, which almost cause Ser Rodrik to kick him out of the training yards, which Robb had saw and boy he almost knocked his opponent's head off with that blow to the face with his axe. No wonder he killed someone with a tourney axe. It also talked about how he wrote a letter to a blacksmith's apprentice that he was going to make a rider deliver once they had left for King's Landing. I wonder why he would write a letter to some random blacksmith's apprentice in King's Landing. None of that mattered however, Robb knew this was something urgent he had to talk to his Maester Luwin about.

He quickly pocketed the journal and headed to where the Maester was at this moment. He saw the Maester at his observatory in broad daylight doing some mathematical calculations for some reason. He slammed the book down on the Maester's desk, and this quickly got the Maester's attention.

"Bran could have been pushed off the tower!" Robb declared. Maester Luwin looked at him skeptically.

"What? That's absurd, where did you get this kind of idea from?" Maester Luwin asked.

"Read the last entry in this journal I found," Robb instructed. The Maester grabbed the book and flipped to the last entry. The maester gleaned over it and his eyes turned wide, when Robb assumed he got to the part he was getting at.

"This is Prince Stafford, who wrote this," Maester Luwin stated as he looked through previous entries, "I can tell by the entries before. Why would he write something or even think something like this. Robb shrugged. He was clueless about Stafford's thoughts about what happened to Bran, but there was clearly something he thought that no one had brought up before. Suddenly, woman burst into the Maester's room panting and out of breath.

"What is it?" Robb asked her.

"He's awake, he's awake, he's awake," Robb looked at Maester Luwin and sprinted out of the room.

When his brother Robb burst into the room, breathless from his dash up the tower steps, the direwolf was licking Bran's face. Bran looked up calmly. "His name is Summer," he said.


	13. AGOT Odyn II

**A/N: Wow, so everyone is probably wondering why there hasn't been an update since the 13th, which was last Sunday. Well I had a family emergency and only got back from family in Detroit after a week of being out. I'll try my hardest to update, and make sure you guys aren't left in the dark anymore. This is Odyn Sand's second chapter and Stafford Baratheon will get his POV after another OC will be introduced, which will end the OCs until another OC is killed off. I try to keep OC's to three living OCs in each story. Again, thanks for all the patience people have had with this story, and I promise I won't ditch you people again. Also, on an unrelated note, I have released a new fanfiction, a parody/comedy of A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones where all the characters including Stafford and Odyn become modern day high school boarding school students. It has longer chapters than this one, but will only be updated most likely once every week (usually Saturday). I released it to make up for the fact that I haven't uploaded in about a week. Please, give credit also to my editors. Especially the user Deus_Vult_Inf1del, who help edit and even write some of this. It is my side project and will be the first one to receive time cuts in work if need be to focus on Ours is the Fury. Anyway, sorry for the longer rant today.**

 **Enjoy**

 _Odyn_

Whilst Odyn sat against the wall of Tobho Mott's great stone barn, he lost himself in the snarling grind of his whetstone across the dull, grey edge of a guard's longsword. _Perhaps Mott should enchant it. Dull old blade can barely cut butter._ Quickly honing the edge in a few long strokes of the stone, he held it close to his unshaven beard, and dragged. The hair of his cheeks covered the longsword, and the streak of tanned skin glistened paler and pinker after the brief yet sudden shave. Chuckling to himself on his handiwork, he gently polished the sword's edge for one last time, and set it aside for the next blade out of eighty-three more.

Lost in the smoke and fumes of the shop, he wiped his grimy face and reached for his wineskin. It had been an hour since his last drunken stupor, and he yearned for it already. But before his quick hand made the instinctive grasp to his wine, a rough, calloused hand grabbed his wrist. He looked up, bewildered and boiling with rage, until his wild eyes met the sight of Tobho Mott's protege.

He stood over the Odyn, casting shadows upon his whole body. He was tall and muscular, his youthful, square-jawed face and his great arms stained with grease. His muscles rippled beneath his apron. As he looked down upon Odyn, he gazed at the wineskin and back to Odyn. His eyes shone icy blue beneath his mop of wild black hair. Those eyes rolled and the young apprentice let out a sigh, as if he was chiding a little boy who spilled his flagon of milk on the floor. "Odyn Sand, I like your help with the swords and all, but you know the rules: No drinking in the forge. _Sober_ men with sharpened swords have ruined a great deal of many things. I couldn't even imagine all the terrible things _drunk_ men with sharpened swords could do."

"Well in my defense, Gendry, drunk men with bloody big _hammers_ have done far worse." Odyn Sand gave a light laugh and loosened the young bull of a man's grip on his wrist, and gave a him a cloying look in his eyes.

"Aye. I've never been born with pockets flowing with coin like our good king, but I'd at least know blowing it all on hunt and tourney and feast after feast while half of Westeros starves away isn't the best idea. For all his faults, I'd have to give him some praise for his second son he raised. Stafford's a good lad. You'd get along well with him, I wager." Every other word was punctuated by the clang of Tobho Mott's hammer upon a white-hot blade, ringing all the way down the Street of Steel as the sun was high in the sky.

"Can we drink to that?" Odyn replied.

Gendry, rolling his eyes with a good natured smile, walked back to his forge, shaping chunks of metal into spearheads for the City Watch with his mighty hammer. Its heavy falls echoed across the forge, yellow sparks bathing the dimmer corners of the room in golden light.

It had been a long week in King's Landing for Odyn Sand. He had been drifting inn to inn, staying for his supper and for a good night's sleep. It wasn't a bad way to live, as he wandered like such back in Dorne, The North, Riverlands, The Reach, Braavos, and even scoured the ancient dragonforts in Volantis, of black stone fused by Valyrian dragonfire. New castles, friendly faces, wines and women of all tastes, free to see the world and enjoy it as so many others his age never get to. _Who wouldn't want to live such a life as mine?_ He occasionally stayed at workshops for artisans of all sorts, a dockyard in Pentos, a barn nearby Storm's End, and even a rock cave in the side of Casterly Rock. Tonight, he decided, he shall take refuge in the Tobho Mott's shop, and offered to help around the shop with their deeds as his payment for a bed.

Odyn had heard whispers of Tobho Mott's from all around Westeros. He was a Qohorik master smith, one of the only few around who could reforge Valyrian Steel. According to his father, Qohor refused to reveal its secrets of Valyrian metalworking, along with its history of human blood sacrifice. _These Qohorik and by extension the Valyrians must have used blood magic to forge their weapons._ Odyn could only wonder what these smiths have done to keep to their lost art.

Lost in thought, Odyn was still going through the motions of sword sharpening, and as he looked to the rack of dull swords, their numbers thinned from eighty-two to sixty-four. Gendry, leaning over his anvil for a brief drink, was watching Odyn's unmatched efficiency agape.

"I'll be damned, Odyn Sand. I didn't think you'd work out as fine as you did. But you certainly proved me wrong. I know I don't have much to give, but I hope I can repay your service here." Gendry spoke warmly, all the while never losing focus on quenching a new longsword in oil, a brilliant burst of fire like a dragon's breath bursting from the cylinder.

"I hope I can repay you and Mott for letting me stay here. It's been a joy to work with you two." Odyn rose from his seat and laid down some of the last swords to be sharpened. He strode over to the countertop near the barn's entrance, and took a swig from another skin he took from the folds of his crimson silk robes.

"Odyn, what have I told you? No drinking in the sho-"

"Relax, my friend. As much as I would like it to be wine, this skin only holds water. I've been boiling it with some of the fires to keep it clean and safe to drink." Odyn raised the waterskin high above his head, and tilted his head back. Water flowed from the skin, straight down Odyn's throat, without even a stain upon his clothes. At the last gulps, he turned back to Gendry. "See? I haven't had a flagon since the last hour and a half ago."

Gendry eased himself and leaned on the countertop with Odyn. He had taken a brief break after quenching his tempered blade, and had set it upon his anvil. The two looked out to the busy street, Mott already bartering with a couple of bearded traders from Norvos, greedily eyeing and gesturing at a gleaming longaxe.

Its design was sleek and elegant, yet unadorned save for its carved shaft, etched in runes of unknown meaning. Its wicked edge was sharp as broken glass, and its rippled head shimmered in the sun, as if its swirls were still molten waves in an ocean of steel. He knew that the head of his house's guard would treasure such a fine axe. In the distance, Odyn watched as Tobho Mott exchanged angry words with the Norvosi, and they left indignant and axe-less. He dusted off his arms and apron, and went back to his counter, sorting desirable sheaths for the axe.

"Tobho Mott? Did those men bother you?"

Odyn asked him, following Gendry from his seat.

"Those damned Norvosi have been trying to buy that longaxe from my shop since before King Robert's family left for the North. Prince Stafford has been rather fond of axes, and I was hoping to give this to him as a token of my esteem. I forged it in the style of Valyria, you see? Layer upon layer upon layer, folded unto itself countless times. It may not be not have the secret Valyrian enchantments spellforged into it, but it's still a bloody masterpiece." Tobho Mott let out a sigh and went back to deciding the best varnish for the leather sheath of Stafford's axe.

"Stafford's back in King's Landing. The Starks came with them recently. He's betrothed to Arya Stark, while that Joffrey has Sansa. I never liked him very much. Quite rude to me whenever his father brought him along." Gendry explained to Odyn.

"That's why they hired us to sharpen their swords, no? Their security needs better armament. More valuable targets for discerning enemies to strike down." Odyn stated matter-of-factly.

"Exactly. That's also why I need this delivered to Stafford as soon as possible." Mott's eyes lit up as they met Gendry's. At first Gendry returned with a quizzical look, and when Mott gestured to Odyn, he soon shared his enthusiasm for whatever plan they had.

"That's it! Odyn, would you mind if you delivered this axe to Stafford? He's up in the Red Keep, and if you're quick, you can run there and return to my shop before the sun sets. And I know that this may not be in the deal for your lodgings at my shop-"

"Say no more, Mott. I'd be glad to help you. It's an honor to work with a master smith of your caliber and deliver to the Royal Family." Odyn replied, a warm smile spreading across his face.

Mott, enthusiastic, tenderly lifted the longaxe from its display, and sheathing its great head with a yellow-gold leather sheath, the black stag of Baratheon prancing upon it, woven from onyx cloth. "Take care not to unsheathe it unless necessary. The last idiot whom I entrusted a forged axe to deliver lost his hand. Grabbed it by the blade. Good riddance to him."

Odyn held the shaft in his two hands. Its carved and rune-etched haft was light, and its weight was concentrated in its head of rippled Valyrian-style steel. He was used to fighting with long-hafted weapons like spears, trained from a young age by his father Oberyn Martell and his bodyguard Areo Hotah from a young age, and he knew that this weapon felt beautifully agile and deadly in his arms. A grin spread across his face, ear to ear. "Tobho Mott, you will not be disappointed."

"I hope Stafford feels the same." He gave a grunt, and waved at Odyn. He went on his way. As he looked behind him, Gendry raised his hammer with a smile on his face, bidding Odyn farewell. He turned around and walked back into his shop, reinforcing the City Watch's armory.

Odyn broke into a sprint, leaping and diving through the crowds, axe faced down as to avoid injury to himself or others. Sweat raced across his face, deep in unfettered focus to achieve his goal. _Nothing will stop me. I will deliver this axe to Stafford. Nothing will stop me._ He raced across the streets, too fast for the commoners to bother him or for the guards to accost him. Even after vaulting over trading stands, jumping across carts, and dipping through alleyways, nobody could hold him back from his delivery. He desired to run across rooftops, but decided that the risk of his fall would be his ruin.

Odyn saw brief glimpses of the Grand Sept of Baelor and the Alchemist's Guild. The Sept's magnificence in its architecture of white stone and glass stained windows of the Faith's stories starkly contrasted the black marble guildhall, at the foot of Visenya's Hill. In its twisted labyrinth, Odyn was told there are caches of Wildfire, connected to an ancient series of winding passageways beneath the city streets. _Thank the Gods no one's attempted to detonate these caches. They would be enough to level the entirety of King's Landing, given the proper placement around those tunnels._

Racing up the last street straight to the Red Keep, he could already see it. Atop Aegon's Hill, facing the Blackwater, it was an imposing sight. It was made of pale crimson stone, its curtain walls peaked with spikes of black iron and riddled with murder holes and archer's nests, surrounding a palace topped with seven massive towers that could survey all of the city, crowned in iron. Its walls had great bronze gates and portcullises. Filled with anticipation, Odyn quickened his step.

Running through the alleys and shortcuts he remembered from wandering the city nights before, and amid reverent awe of the Red Keep, Odyn failed to notice a mud caked black boot jut from an alley's entrance, and he was sent to his feet, tumbling into a puddle of mud, deep into the foul smelling alleyway of run-down shops and cluttered slums. Despite rich silks dirtied and his bag of his personal effects torn, all he could think of was the axe he swore to deliver to Stafford Baratheon. As his hands found their way around the axe's shaft and lifted it up, he felt the cold kiss of a long dirk across his cheek. Though mud blurred his eyes as he and the axe fell to the ground again, he could still hear and see the steps of a man's black boots around him. Still on his knees, Odyn could still hear the man step to the alley's entrance and lean back on a wall, blocking his way out. As his eyes cleared, he found a clearer view of his assailant.

The gaunt man wore black, mottled leather, beneath a long coat of fine cloth, its colors faded from the sooty stains it had sustained. His breeches were as black as his mud caked leather boots. His arms were crossed as he let out a mirthless laugh. Odyn was filled with boiling rage as the man's vaguely frog-like face started a toothy grin. His teeth were rotten and yellow, and his sour breath could be smelled all the way down the alley. Above his head swung a rusted sign, and though the colors were weathered away, Odyn could still read the inscription that still remained. _Gin Alley._

"You look like a fookin ballsack." The man's raspy voice was like gravel across slate. He slowly walked over to Odyn, his rotten, slimy teeth glistening as he smiled. Odyn, recovering his senses and cold fury, dropped into a low stance fit for the close-quarters combat he had anticipated. As he reached for his sword and buckler, his eyes had grown wide and his hands twitched nervously. In the rush to deliver Stafford's axe, he had forgotten the most important gear to bring along in one's travels. And no, it wasn't his wineskin.

So he picked up the longaxe from the ground, unsheathed its head, and after making sure to put the sheath in his bag, he lunged at the gaunt man, still laughing. The man parried the longaxe and glanced the axe into a nearby wall, almost dancing into striking distance of Odyn's face, had it not been a responded to by a quick recovery and a brutal counterslash across the gaunt man's leathered chest. He leaped back, circling Odyn. He still barked a terrible laugh, twirling his dirks and savoring the glorious sound of the clinking blades. The alley wasn't as wide as Odyn wanted, but it was wide enough. Followed by a long silence, he looked into his eyes. "You just stepped into the wrong fookin alley, cunt. You're a long way from your coward knights in fookin steel plate and your high fookin castles. Some old soldier teach you how to fight? How to stand and parry?"

He lightly stepped within Odyn's axe, past its head, and slashed across Odyn's arm, darting out of his axe's reach as quickly as he had entered it. Deep in rage, the wounds were ignored, and the two men began their dance of death around the alley, the kiss of their blades followed by sparks.

Odyn's longaxe jabbed at the man's head, but the man glanced off its beak with his daggers, sidestepped it and charged at Odyn, daggers flaring. Odyn spun away from the blow, the man and his daggers crashing into the wall behind him. The axe fell upon him. The vagrant attempted to parry his axe head with his blades, Odyn darted his axe away, and drew its head back and forth across the man's arm, leaving a nasty cut and a gus of blood staining the vagrant's clothes. It sliced through the leather and tore at the skin beneath.

The vagrant roared and charged at the Dornishman again. Odyn waltzed side to side, the man managing to slam himself against the wall again. "Do you know who I am?" The vagrant hissed furiously, cutting at Odyn's chest, and missed, falling to the ground yet again.

"Some dead man."

The axe jabbed at the man's arms. Like lightning made flesh, Odyn flickered and danced around the man, feinting a jab to his groin and slashing his leg, darting close to his eyes and stabbing his stomach. As if his hands were guided by the Warrior himself, he rarely missed. He circled, darted, jabbed, then darted again, and dodged the scoundrel's charges, leaving the man spinning across his own alley. His uncontrollable rage left the man an open target, his own parries and dodges of Odyn's axe growing sloppy.

Occasionally sweeping low to keep the man tired and on his feet, Odyn kept him at whatever distance he could afford in the alley. Close-quarters had always been a bit of a sore spot for his father to learn, and he had trained specifically for situations like this to avoid his father's mistakes.

The man furiously rushed Odyn, hacking at his axe's haft, but to no avail. With the fine wood Tobho Mott had made the shaft from, he might as well have tried to hack apart a mountain. "Gods have mercy on you," Odyn spat, "I won't."

Growling and snarling like a deranged animal, the leathered scoundrel and the Dornishman traded blow after blow, parry after parry, Odyn being more successful in making his mark. As the fight wore on, the man's daggers were nicked and blunted in many areas. His leathers were torn, and gore flew and dripped from his ragged body. His blackened leathers were turning a muddy red, his face an open wound from the slams of the axe's haft and slices of its edge, sharp as glass and harder than dragonstone. The man was breathing hard, while Odyn barely made a sound. Something in Odyn's heart felt a pang of pity for the fool. _He went to find peace in the grass and found a viper instead._

After what seemed to be an eternity to the man, he has dropped into the wrong stance, leaving him wide open to Odyn's axe. Hate filled Odyn to a degree he never known. He stopped trying to defend himself long ago. _I walked into this alley fighting for my life and wound up fighting to end another._

But cat-quick, the vagrant whirled around the unfatigued and furious lad, and took him from behind. Holding him close, he slashed him across his silked belly, before Odyn could return a strike back to him. Heart filled with the fury of seven hells, Odyn wrenched him off, and dizzy from the man's finesse in his blow to his stomach, he charged the vagrant. Having anticipated it, the vagrant caught him and threw him out onto the main street, in full view of several onlookers. Bleeding faster and harder than he had prepared for and knocked prone by his crash to the ground, he lifted himself up, leaning on his axe, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him, to the only place he had on his mind: The Red Keep.

Behind him he heard screams of onlookers, the toppling of merchants' stands, the falls of hapless innocents who stood in that ruffian's way, and his ferocious screams. "CUUUUNT! I'LL FOOKIN KILL YOU! I'LL FOOK YOU TILL YOU'RE DEEAAAD!" The savage pummeled people to the ground, stabbing bystanders as he ran with his dirks, all while proclaiming his undying hatred for Odyn Sand. Blood flowed in the main street like shit poured from the windows of Flea Bottom's slums.

It had been as though he had been running for an eternity, bobbing and weaving with cat-like finesse over walls, trading stands, a few carriages, and even through a corner filled with whores. His pursuer never gave up chase, bent on the single-minded destruction of his foe. And as the sun set over the city and Odyn ran up the last hundred yards to Aegon's Hill, he could see the Red Keep's bronze gates looming into view. His mind felt relieved, holding onto whatever strength held in his bowels from spilling forth, as he sprinted through dwindling crowds beneath a darkening blue sky, bathed in orange-gold light.

But it was at this moment the gaunt man lunged from Odyn's side from another alley and threw him into a small cranny filled with trash between a pub and a whorehouse, leaving him soaked and covered in the vilest garbage he ever smelled. As Odyn raised his axe valiantly to defend himself, the man kicked him in his ribs, laughing at the sound of them cracking like a baby's skull against a wall. Odyn's arms faltered and he dropped his axe.

"I am the fookin legend of Gin Alley. The Mother-FOOKIN LEGEND! I'm going to drink your fine fookin wines out of your cuntish sku-" Odyn spat in his face, blinding him as he screamed in fury. As he rubbed his eyes, he blindly flailed about, covered in blood, shit, his own vomit, garbage, and Odyn Sand's spit.

"Stop _RIGHT THERE,_ **CRIMINAL SCUM**!" The incredulous vagrant, still screaming, turned to face yet another assailant, and was promptly met by an iron cudgel to the chest and stomach, crumpling over. Odyn watched as an entire horde of King's Landing's City Watchmen tackling him, beating him again and again, overcome with zealous fury. "YOUR STOLEN GOODS ARE NOW _**FORFEIT!"**_

Amid this awesome sight of dozens of City Watchmen needlessly beating the dirk-twirling fool, Odyn slipped out of the garbage, grabbed his axe, and made a mad run for the last yards to the bronze gates of the Red Keep. They towered over him, and had they been closed nary a force on earth could penetrate them. But dozens of guards in cloaks both of gold and red had abandoned their posts in a mad rush of zeal, longing to bring lawbreakers to justice. The gates were left open, and even the watchers on the portcullises were watching the Watchmens' glorious rage, forgetting to close them.

Odyn Sand sprinted audaciously past the great bronze gates, beneath three portcullises, and into a red stone courtyard. He had to thank whoever that scoundrel was. Had he not provided a distraction for the guards, they would've delayed his delivery to the Red Keep.

He had no time to praise or note of the Keep's architecture and storied history as he stumbled into the courtyard, stumbling and bleeding from exhaustion, holding his slashed stomach. He leaned on to Stafford Axe, his legs worn and cramping. His vision was blurry and he began to feel nauseous, soon left praying the garbage and mud won't infect his wounds.

He observed two younger teenagers deep in intimate conversation. One was a beautiful young girl, tall and proud, her red-gold hair like molten stars. Her blue dress' hue mingled with the golden sun setting over the city. She was slender yet growing shapely.

Beside her saw a strongly-built, towering young lad, muscular and powerful. His black hair fell over his eyes. He laughed raucously at whatever indiscernible things she was saying. He dressed in a golden tunic, with a symbol upon his breast that Odyn's blurry eyes failed to interpret. As he approached the two, he stumbled on his cramped legs, wincing in pain as his stomach's wounds bled. _Gendry, what are you doing here?_

The girl noticed Odyn first. She let out a scream, falling into the young man's arms. He soon noticed a shambling figure, covered in garbage and mud, bleeding from multiple wounds, and leaning on an axe with his arms. The young man stepped in front of the lady to protect her, and drew two handaxes from his belt. But before he could walk up to this attacker and finish him off, Odyn fell to his knees, drawing the axe's sheath from his bag and sheathing its head. He laid down his axe and held both his hands over his head.

"Stafford, d-do something! Please!" The lady was filled with fright at this morbid sight, while the situation only hardened the boy's steely resolve, walking to Odyn's ragged body. _Stafford. Stafford Baratheon. I have your axe._

"Seven Hells," He swore, "Who _are_ _you_ and what are you _doing here?_ "

Stafford brandished his axes. At this Odyn smiled, wiping the muck from his face and shoulders. And with great effort, he got himself up with his one good arm, wincing with pain as his other wounded arm held his bleeding stomach. _It's just a flesh wound._ It didn't cut as deeply as he thought, but it bled all the same _._

"Stafford Baratheon. I have a delivery for Stafford Baratheon." He stood as tall as he could, his voice calm and cordial as he could manage. Stafford Baratheon looked at him wordlessly, eyes filled with suspicion. He looked at the ragged Dornishman, then to the axe upon the ground. He gazed back at Odyn and then to the axe's sheath. Upon a field of yellow pranced the proud black stag of House Baratheon, same as it did on the breast of Stafford's yellow tunic. Odyn's eyes met Stafford's, and his ice-blue eyes stare back into his. _Gendry, what are you doing all the way over here._

At this, Odyn fell to the ground, crumpling in a heap from the pain from all his wounds. Stafford's suspicion left him, and after belting his hand axes, he lifted up Odyn by his shoulders and helped him to his feet as he roared in pain. Stafford carried his new axe in his free hand. "Sansa. Sansa, come and help me with him. He's bleeding all over. Come on now, don't be afraid."

Odyn laughed heartily in between roars of anguish. "'Tis but a scratch." He japed to Sansa in one of his moments of clarity, and she laughed at the absurdity of his strength until one of his legs failed beneath him, and he cried out, anguished.

 _Sansa Stark. I've heard of her beauty during my forays, but the words failed to capture how utterly gorgeous she was in person._ Recovering her composure, she walked to Stafford, and held Odyn's other side up as they walked back into the Red Keep, holding him close to keep him from falling. "Come on now. One step, then the other. One step, then the other. Just keep calm, alright?" Sansa was whispered to Odyn as he winced with every step, his willpower abandoning him. He wanted to stare into her piercing, sky-blue eyes as long as he could, but his the world was spinning and slipping away like footprints in the sand.

And with his last rage he held in his heart, he bellowed a furious roar up into the heavens, as his pain plunged the world into darkness.


	14. AGOT Ellion I

**A/N: Miss me yet? Seriously, this has been the second week in a row that I hadnt uploaded much. Well good news, I'm back and so is my editors. I had to do a retake of my SAT, so I had to prepare for that. It's not that y'all aren't important enough for me to update during it, it's just that I don't want to fail my SAT or get a lower score than the last time, where I was 10 points short of the mark I needed to even be considered by an ivy league school. Anyway here is new chapter from the last POV OC, which had to be included, because he is the only POV in Essos for a while. Next will be Stafford for those curious on what his next chapter is. Then we'll add some cannon to it. Jon Connington is in this chapter, and it will be apparent even though he is not referred to as Jon Connington. In this scenario, he does not join the golden company, and therefore does not know about "Aegon". He will be part of Aegon's invasion though, so stay tuned to how this plays out.**

 **Enjoy**

Ellion

Ellion gazed upon the black, monolithic walls of Volantis, deep in awe. He had lived in the free cities for as long as he remembered, but the black walls always amazed him. Ever since he was only a boy of nine, he remembered thinking about the builders of such a wall. The wall separated the palaces and other important buildings of what people outside the walls called Old Volantis.

Now a boy of nineteen, Ellion was the wanderer of the free cities, roaming their streets beneath the stars, when the cities slept and he walked alone. Griff could never stop reciting how he came to bring Ellion to Essos. From across the sea, he brought him from his home, the land of knights and chivalry, seven kingdoms beneath the Iron Throne. But no matter how far Ellion pressed, why he came to be in Essos remained a mystery.

He had been given over to Griff by some masked smuggler, who Griff got paid handsomely to take care of and to keep him safe. Ellion remained restless, reaching out and grasping onto the mystery of his past, no matter how much empty air filled his clenched fists instead. The past be damned, for after the night when I wake up, I'll see what tomorrow brings.

Griff had been a sellsword, and he established his owned mercenary company in the city known as the Talon Company. Ellion had grown up training with his guardian and learning various fighting styles from around the free cities. Griff had become accomplished, and even said himself that if he had remained in Westeros, he would have likely not gotten the experience in fighting that he got in the free cities, and died there in the time of peace.

The story in the free cities is being written in blood. There are always plenty of people who need someone killed, bandits brought back, dead or alive, in the name of justice, and plenty of people who need a private fighting force for an expedition into parts unknown. Gold is gold, Griff once told him, and there ain't nothing in this world for free.

Ellion looked at the walls for a moment reflecting on their height and width. They say they were big enough for six four horse chariots to race atop them abreast. It was a marvel of architecture. Ellion simply sighed a little, while his mercenary group was trying to find work in the city. The mercenary army was large, larger than ten times the size of the Second Sons mercenary group at about 5,000. The Talon Company have definitely made a name for themselves in the realm. Ellion had been waiting for the day he would accompany them in a job, and Griff told him that once they found a job in Volantis, they would allow him to get his first taste of mercenary work. Ellion had trained hard, and felt he would do better than most of the mercenaries in the group, even a couple of years prior to the announcement he would be joining in his first job.

Ellion was supposed to be finding a contract somewhere in the city they could enter in, but there were hardly any people who were willing to take the fresh faced sellsword's propositions for work seriously. Some jobs he had been offered were only minor ones, and Griff wanted a big one for his first job.

Griff told him that he needed to prove his worth not by doing grunt work, but by doing something exceptional, like capture a stronghold for a local noble, or help track down a group of bandits without much man power. Griff told him he would make him a lieutenant right away if he were to accomplish this, and Ellion aimed to be important to the mercenary group. He did not want to be the wasteful load. Ellion silently reassured himself. I will not fail. I will not fail.

Ellion, a bit disheartened to not find a job within the walls, went across the Long Bridge and to an old tavern Griff told everyone to meet before dusk. It was dusk, so he hurried his way to the tavern in the new districts of the city of Volantis. Ellion wondered if anyone found any worthwhile tasks or jobs. Ellion found the tavern, and before he entered it did his usual routine. He grabbed two gloves from his belt, and looked at his left hand before putting it on. It was grey and it looked like it had been rotting away. Ellion had survived Greyscale as an infant, and his entire left arm and shoulder had become disfigured, because of it. This is why he always wore long sleeves underneath his leather jerkin, as to conceal his scars. He left his hands uncovered, because most don't notice it, but in a place filled with new faces, he hoped to keep them at ease with shaking his hands. Ellion took a deep breath and entered the tavern.

The tavern was filled, mostly with much of the mercenaries and sellswords employed by Griff himself. The tavern was noisy and filled with the loud chatter of the men. Some spoke of conquests and violence and braggadocio, too much Ellion to distinguish in the chaotic din of the mercenary's voices. He pushed his way through the men, some preoccupied with pretty girls bouncing upon their laps, hands undoing their breeches. And after a few shoves around, a couple obscenities thrown at him, and a few caresses from some whores, he found his guardian Griff sitting with his top lieutenants.

Griff was a man nearing the age of forty. His hair was blue, though his eyebrows are still red and his red roots show. He had aged much since he had remembered him in the hazy memories he had in the past. Griff had raised him to become a part of the mercenary company. He had told him that since he had been paid to raise and protect him, he might as well make himself useful. He was cautious though, and allowed his body to mature and his combat abilities to grow before he joined the mercenary company. Griff knew much about the occupation and the mercenary group was the most feared mercenary company in Essos.

"So boy, have you got any leads?" Griff stated roughly. Ellion looked at him for a moment and gave his answer.

"No, I wandered around the new parts of the city and even into the black walls, still I got nothing," Ellion stated. Griff grunted a little.

"Consider yourself lucky then, I heard word of a settlement that needs our help. Here, I'll mark it on the map," Griff explained marking some village on the map. Ellion thought it would be simple enough. Secure a settlement with a group of their mercenaries and fortify it, before the regular garrison can get it back under their control. Easy enough.

"When do we set out for the settlement?" Ellion asked him.

"At the break of dawn on the morrow. We will send a detachment of men with you, as well as some of my more accomplished lieutenants," Griff explained. Ellion nodded in reply. "In the meantime, you can go rest. You've got a bloody big day ahead of you, boy. But I'm not worried. Neither should you." Ellion got up, smiled and shook his head solemnly to Griff, and after wading through the tavern's crowds of mercenaries and whores, he strode to a nearby training ground. He knew it was never too late to get some last minute training in.

* * *

Dawn broke after Ellion got a somewhat restful, dreamless sleep the night before. Ellion never felt nervous or panicked, not matter the situation. He remained ever-stoic as they rode on horseback to the village that they had been hired to liberate. It was just another day for him. Griff was to accompany them to a place where they would set up a temporary battle camp before the battle in afternoon, and wait there for Ellion to complete the job while readying the resources they had brought for the settlement's fortification. It was his chance to prove himself, and it was his chance to show him his skills in the field. He would be tested on his leadership capabilities, his prowess in battle, and most of all, his courage. Don't be afraid.

The ride to the battle camp and to the nearby village was a chance for Ellion to relax a little before they would exterminate the bandits. Ellion ran through the battle plans in his head. He needed to stay calm and patient in the battlespace. Bravado makes the worst of even the best. Ellion feared nothing, but he was unwilling to take risks that might risk him being at any disadvantage. He fought with defensive offense and offensive defense, and no matter what, he fought smartly.

They gained sight of the village, smoke rising high in the sky from burning houses. Bandits had probably tried to raze it to the ground before the band of mercenaries even came. Griff pulled up beside Ellion.

"Are you prepared to fight, boy?" Griff asked him.

"As ready as I'll ever be, sir," Ellion replied. Griff gave a laugh.

"Glory and victory, for me and for you and for the Talon Company, my boy!" He ordered, "Now everyone tighten formation and the infantry will proceed on foot with Ellion. Cavalry, stay with me, and we'll clean up whatever scum remains after Ellion and the infantry deals with the majority of the bandits."

The men did as they were ordered and they set up began light fortifications, a crude war camp a little closer to the village than they had originally wanted to be, but the bandits had not spotted them, so they did not get attacked. The crude war camp was only a couple of tents, mostly for armorers and smiths, to get some of the equipment ready of the mercenaries, and for the large one for some battle strategies. There was one setup for temporary quarters just in case the battle lasted all night, and the reserves had to sleep before they are called upon if needed. Ellion helped out with the camp set up, and it was about noon, when the camp was all ready and set up for the battle. It took them only three hours to do so, the company efficient and well-organized.

Ellion met with Griff and some of his lieutenants. Griff had been discussing some of the plan with them when he entered the main battle strategy tent.

"Ellion, glad you could join us. We were going over the infantry's role in the assault. The Infantry like yourself will be the first wave of attack in this assault. You, Devron, and Jaron will storm the village and leave no survivors." Griff growled as he gestured at the two lieutenants next to him. Devron had been one of the most experienced lieutenants, he had been with Griff since he had founded the mercenary company. Devron was tall broad shouldered, and armored like a warhorse. He wielded a giant pole axe, a monstrous beast of a weapon, and wore a rounded close helmet of dinted grey steel over an older style of unadorned plate, rusted and battle scarred. Jaron was a little shorter, built like an ox. He wore a sleeveless, checkered black and white surcoat over polished mail, leather greaves and gauntlets, an old armet, a wicked flail, and a heater shield that bore his personal arms of a burning crown own a jet-black field.

"We got experience, lad. Just stick with us, and you should be fine'" Jaron stated. He had a faint accent of indeterminable origin. Ellion could tell he spoke a different language when he spoke and probably didn't use common all that much.

"Indeed, we shall make a slaughter of them. Just use whatever skills you can muster, and try your best," Devron spoke rapidly in fluent common. Devron sounded refined, which surprised him, as though he had seen Devron around the camps of their other contracts, he nary spoke. He would have expected it more from Jaron than Devron from what he had experienced from the two of them thus far.

"Alright, let's discuss the other tasks that you must accomplish. You must search for any survivors in hiding. I know it took us an entire day to make it here, and most have probably fled by now, but sometimes there are some people who are good at hiding. I aim to find as many as we can," Griff stated. Ellion nodded, staying silent and focused the entire meeting. He was mostly maintaining composure to make sure he absorbed every detail of the battle plan. Ellion wanted to go into the battle knowing what he needed to do, what he needed to accomplish in terms of objectives, and the strategies needed to utilize to defeat his opponents. He needed to have a strategy in mind, and without a strategy he would just go into the fray without a plan. That was a recipe for disaster, especially since he did not have sufficient experience just to think up of plans and other things on the go. He couldn't just make up an entire strategy of how to capture an entire village.

Once Griff had finished his battle meeting, he called Ellion over once everyone left the tent.

"I have some final words for you before you go into battle today," Griff stated.

"What is it?" Ellion asked.

"You have been like a son to me since you were entrusted into my care. I thought I could earn gold by taking care of you, but it has become more than that. Try not to do anything dumb on your first job and go off and get yourself killed. I'd never forgive myself if you did that," Griff told Ellion.

"How would it be your fault if I died out there? Wouldn't it be my skills that decide whether I live or die on the battlefield? Isn't that what you taught me during my first lessons with the sword?" Ellion remarked to Griff as he adjusted his own longsword sheathed at his side.

"I taught you the skills that you know right now. If you die it would be because I didn't teach you good enough. That is why I would feel responsible, but I have full faith that you won't mess up. Just don't underestimate your opponents, and above all else, don't get reckless,"

"I won't, Griff."

"You better not. No go on now, don't let old Griff hold you back." And with that, Ellion left the tent and went out the camp to continue the final preparations.

* * *

It had been early afternoon after the rest of the preparations had become done. Ellion had gotten his armor fitted and prepared for combat by the armorer, his sword sharpened for the battle, and finally got some extra advice from Jaron while they talked before being given the order to march for the village. Once the order from Griff came to Ellion to march, Ellion remained calm and began to stride towards the village. They had finished the two mile walk to the village, where they were standing next to granary right next to village, which had been looted. They spotted some of the bandits, which to them seemed like a couple dozen from where they were. They only had about two-hundred fifty with the group. Griff only brought about a quarter of the full thousand man-strong detachment to deal with these bandits, because it would be overkill to tire out and sent a less mobile five-hundred man force. He only fielded one-hundred infantry, with fifty in reserve, along with a hundred cavalrymen. Ellion, Jaron, and Devron's infantry group came within range of some of the houses and with it, the bandits finally took notice of them.

The bandits spoke a weird dialect of language that Ellion did not recognize or understands. To him it sounded like a bunch of grunts, snarls, and generally barbaric talk. All he saw was them pointing at his group and about fifty of the bandits charge towards his group. They were wearing fur and leather armor, equipped with a variety of weapons, like spears, clubs, and even axes. Some even had traditional swords, albeit in terrible condition.

"To arms!" Ellion and the other lieutenants yelled to the men behind him. Ellion made sure to let them come to him, as he wasn't about to risk running at them only to get slashed by a running slash from one of them. He drew his longsword, the only weapon he needed. He felt that his skill in parrying and blocking meant he didn't need a shield. He wanted to be as fast as possible with his sword, and even carried a hand crossbow for ranged purposes.

One of the bandits with a giant axe came at him trying to tackle and take him down. He knew better to fall for any of that business and he quickly dodged it and gave him a slash of his own. Ellion hit him on the shoulder and the sword dug right into the opponent like scrib jelly. It cut through his flesh, and while the bandit tried to hide his pain and anguish, there was no use hiding it. He grabbed the pommel of his sword and gave a forward slash through the neck of the opponent and threw his sword up in the air, catching it. Ellion then turned around to see that a bandit had tried to sneak behind him, but he noticed it and he gave quick sweeping blow. It managed to catch three of the enemies, who tried to surprise and he managed to defend from their assault. He stabbed one of the others in the gut and pulled out the sword in time to catch one of the swords of an opponent, who tried to catch him off guard. Ellion quickly parried the sword to the side and delivered a swift sidestep which slit the poor man's throat. While his friend tried to run away as soon as he saw that, Ellion was a quick one and grabbed his own sword by the near tip, because his gauntlets protected him from the sword's blade, and he was able to make it so that the pommel smashed the bandit, causing him to crack his skull and fall to the ground. He stabbed him in the chest on the ground to make sure he had died, and that he left no survivors.

Suddenly, he heard a roar from behind, and it was a bandit with a sword raised ready to strike. He had no time to regain his sword stance to parry or deflect as he was busy trying to pull out his sword out of the scalp of his fallen opponent, who had tried to run away. However, he saw Jaron bash him with a shield causing the bandit to lose balance and fall to the floor. Before he could get up, the bandit's face met Jaron's spiked flail. He had fallen and cannot get up.

"Best be more careful, boy. Keep your guard up." Jaron instructed as they continued fighting more of the bandits. They held their ground against more bandits as some of them had heard the fighting going on, and had tried to join in. Most of the bandits were struck down quickly, not even putting up much of a fight to begin with. Ellion could not believe how easy these brigands were to bring down. He must have lost count as to how many heads he had cut off. This is why they had to prey on innocent people, who could not fight back, because lacked skill to prey on someone who could actually fight back against them. One incident that made the bandits break even faster was Devron's mighty axe slash, which managed to decapitate two of them and maul two more next to them.

"Don't lose your head." He laughed mightily as he fell those idiot bandits. Ellion roared victoriously as the bandits broke en masse, trying to hold the line when the fight had reached the village center. Just then, Jaron blew a horn in his belt to signal a cavalry charge.

The sound of the hooves soon overtook the sound of the fighting as the bandits simply tried to flee as soon as they saw the horse come straight for them. They were helpless as Griff and some of his top riders finished the job quickly. Ellion tracked down most of the fleeing bandits, until he was knocked to the ground by a particularly large bandit, who wielded an axe. He was a muscled savage, wearing hairy breeches, and bore tribal tattoos all over his body.

"You don' think it over yet, do ya? It ain't a over," The bandit bellowed as he tried to strike down Ellion as he tried regaining his balance. Ellion got up quickly and he could not believe how much it drained him to do so. He couldn't believe how easy it had been to get knocked down by the blood-crazed bandit. Ellion had sustained a few bruises from it. The bandit leaned forward and tried his hardest to strike Ellion with wild swings. Ellion dodged most of it, and deflected the rest of it, but each of the times he had tried to avoid the hits, he had his stamina drained. All his energy had been disappearing as the battle had raged on for a bit, even though the other bandits weren't much of a challenge. Ellion knew he had to get a little more aggressive and wait patiently for the right moment, when this bandit would get tired. Patient aggression is the key to winning a one on one battle with someone. Ellion craved this type of honorable battle between two men, and found himself lucky the rest were breaking and being chased down by mercenaries for them to double team him. Ellion noticing a long winded strike dodged to the side and delivered two swift strikes to the mid section. This angered the brute even more as his sword had cut into him pretty badly.

"You piece of shit." the brute roared as he continued to attack him. Just when he raised with all his might for a giant axe smash downward. Ellion seeing a grand opening delivered a bash with his shoulder with all his might, which caused the brute to double back a bit, giving him the time and room to deliver a slash to his shoulder. The sword went through the unarmored brute's flesh easily, but the brute continued to press on with a fight, painfully removing the blade with his bare hands. This man had such a high pain threshold that even Ellion admired him for it. The brute hobbled his axe up and tried to hit Ellion again with it. Ellion simply side stepped past it, and hit him with two sharp blows to both sides.

"RAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!" The man howled as he struggled to keep the axe in his hands. Ellion could not find out how much pain and suffering this man could handle. The brute began to breathe heavily and began to try to grab at Ellion. Ellion quickly pushed away all of his attempts. Frustrated and holding on to his life as he was heavily wounded, Ellion was only lightly wounded and bruised from the confrontation, he raised his axe one more time in a last ditch attempt to try to finish Ellion off. Ellion simply smiled, and to upset him he tried to parry it. It was at that moment he realized. He had fucked up. Ellion ended up getting slashed in the arm, as the axe hit the mail in in his gauntlets, penetrating them. It went deep into the bone of his forearm, but luckily not enough to damage the bone, only the skin. Ellion doubled back in pain, but just as the brute flashed up, his head just flew up, a sword jutting from his throat.

Ellion looked up and saw Griff on a horse, staring down at him.

"Like I said, don't underestimate your opponents," Ellion smiled.


	15. AGOT Stafford VI

**A/N: Thank you all for your patience with the series and I am proud to present you with another part of the saga of Stafford Baratheon, and the rest of his companions. I hoped you received Ellion's chapter well. Stafford will receive his first POV in Act II, and this is the longest POV I have ever made thus far, at a over 6,000 words. Stafford gets to formulate a plan with his uncle Renly about his participation in the tournament, and Stafford spends some one-on-one time with Sansa, as their potential relationship begins to take bloom. Stafford's pairing poll will conclude at the first POV chapter of Stafford in Act III, so there is plenty of time to vote. The winner of the poll will automatically become his next love interest. If it is a tie, then I might consider a full on three way pairing. Thank you all for the support and please continue to leave good constructive criticisms. The only way I get better at writing is through your voice.**

 **Enjoy!**

The council meetings got more interesting with Lord Eddard Stark in them. It made it less boring for Stafford to play messenger, as little a role he played in council meetings at all. He was but a spectator in the small council, he didn't have any say whatsoever, but he still got to enjoy the arguments that happened in the small council. _A warrior is armored in steel, his soul saved by the Seven, and his mind clad in unmatched intellect._

It was too bad his father never attended small council meetings much, he would have enjoyed much of the arguments Lord Eddard got into. It was hard to be the hand of the king, especially in his father's small council. Lord Eddard, who had been against the tournament, had been arguing with them for a while now. Stafford wanted to use his new skills from the last tournament to achieve victory. Luckily for Stafford, Lord Eddard could not convince the council nor his old friend otherwise, so there would be a tournament after all. It would be a big tournament, so his father would probably not allow him into the melee, and just let him go into the axe throwing competition. While, Stafford liked the Axe throwing competition, he wanted to get a challenge in the melee. He wanted to test his mettle against the best swords or whatever weapon his opponents used.

On top of all of that, the bastard of Oberyn Martell's had also delivered Stafford's new axe, forged the style of Valyria by Tobho Mott and his apprentice Gendry. He couldn't wait to try it out. Stafford hoped his father would let him compete in this one. He didn't know what the hell what he'll do if he couldn't.

His uncle Jamie had done this when he was fifteen, and he definitely felt he could handle pressures of the melee. Stafford did not like being 'preserved', because he was the second child of the king, and have to sit out the tournament, because of it. His mother would nonetheless, not allow him to do that, nor his father, because even though he wouldn't be the heir to the crown, he was the heir to Storm's End.

When he came of age, he had a rightful claim to the ancestral seat of Storm's End, but he didn't want that. He didn't want to be a king of anything. He didn't care if he was just a household knight. But something told him, that Joffrey wouldn't make a good king, and if that were the case, he would have to do something about it. Even if it meant trying to take the crown he so desperately despised. His father told him the same thing about Aerys, who happened to be his uncle. _Luckily, I'm only fifteen, father is perfectly well, and I don't have to worry about the damn game for a long time_ , Stafford thought. It would be quite a while before, Stafford would have to worry about the business of inheritance, as they were too young to even think about such business.

And on even worse matters, the small council was deep in deliberation concerning the fate of Oberyn Martell's bastard son. Stafford could still remember his first encounter with the Dornishman.

He and Sansa Stark had dragged him, japing like a mad fool between roars of pain and delirium, all the way to the Maester Pycelle's chambers. The poor man was covered in blood, shit, foul-smelling trash, and rotting silk robes. As Stafford brought Pycelle's supplies and hot water, Sansa helped the other Maesters strip Odyn Sand down to his undergarments, and his unconsciousness provided no hindrance to Pycelle's cruder stop-gap surgery of his slashed stomach. Cleansed and bleeding slower, he was carried to one of the Red Keep's empty bedchambers, and was lain down on a bed, and Pycelle and his maesters commenced the finer details of mending his wounds. All the while, though he said all would be well, Pycelle's grim eyes were filled with fear. Oberyn Martell would be most unhappy at his son's death, as vipers are best left un-treaded upon.

Neither Stafford or Sansa knew what had become of Odyn Sand after King's Guard led by Barristan Selmy had escorted them from the room, two of them staying to stand guard next to it. They all knew better than to disrupt a process as intricate as the surgery by distracting the Maesters, and after saying a brief prayer to the Seven, the two were brought to their royal chambers, passing by the uneased Lord Stark accompanied by his fellow counselors Lord Varys and Lord Baelish.

Later on in the night, both he and Sansa received explicit orders to not speak of the incident or visit the Dornishman from Ned Stark himself. The relations with Dorne were fragile and delicate like the healing of the Maesters, and even with only the slightest wrong word to the wrong person was like to lead to outrage and insurrection from it.

This was the first assembly the council had organized to discuss Odyn Sand. Pycelle was unable to attend due to Odyn's surgery, and a trusted aide of his was sent in his place. But despite the disparities in the character if the counselors, the agreement was unanimous: They must immediately alert Sunspear that one of Oberyn Martell's son's are wounded and in mortal agony. Withholding these facts would result in only stronger public outcry from Dorne. Accompanied by riders, Sunspear will send a convoy of guards and Maesters to protect and support Odyn's surgery, ensuring the safety of their interests.

It had been an odd sight to behold, a unanimous agreement between the council, and Stafford hoped that they shall muster the same unity in favor of his tourney participation.

After the consensus, which his father was not there for, Stafford quickly made his way to the dining hall, where he usually found his father. This is usually the time, when his father would 'listen' to the messages that Stafford had recorded in the council meeting. Stafford didn't like the job, and thought that it was something that took away from his training, his spare time, and even his time with his friends in the Red Keep and even King's Landing. Seven hells, the only friends he had in King's Landing before the Stark girls came was a blacksmith's boy named Gendry. He even tried to bring Joffrey with him to the blacksmith shop to get their weapons sharpened, but then he got all rude with Gendry, so Stafford had to get him out of there, before Gendry could beat him down. Gendry and Stafford seemed to have one common thing, they don't take anything from anybody. Gendry and Stafford even seemed to look more alike than Joffrey did to him, and Stafford found that hilarious.

Once Stafford got to the dining hall, his father, and the rest of his family, including Joffrey was there and they had served the first dish. It was some kind of soup, and Stafford sat next to his father to be served by the servers.

"Father, I have some messages from the council for you," Stafford told him.

"Just make them quick, and get to the things that require my urgent attention, I bore of this small council talk. Nothing, but realm planning and counting coppers to me," his father replied after which he took another swig of his drink from his cup.

"Indeed, well we planned out most of the rest of the tournament, that we needed," Stafford stated, "We planned there to be a joust, an archery competition, an axe throwing competition, and of course the melee." His father nodded in approval.

"Is the feast going to be large and grand? It must be fit for a king!" His father declared.

"Of course, and then there comes a matter with the expenses. Lord Baelish and Lord Stark wish to ask you what ways the council can mitigate the costs," Stafford reasoned.

"The feast must be grand no matter what the cost. Tell the two to spare no expense for the hand's tournament. Ned should be honored with how much the crown is spending on him," the server placed down Stafford soup and Stafford went straight for it. Stafford had had a long day today and he wasn't about to squander it with the problems the realm was having.

"As you say, I'll just tell the council what you think about the tournament, and I'm sure they will obey your command. They have no right to deny you anything," Stafford stated.

"Well said," the king stated as he continued to eat his meal. They brought more plates and dishes and they both devoured the plates fully, and it took no time to do so. The two would win any eating contest or challenge any gourmet in Westeros with the amount the two could eat at once. The only difference seemed to be that Stafford would put forth so much work in the training yard, and in his general training, that no one would notice that he had been an avid eater. Stafford knew how to control himself though, but his father seemed to have given in to the notion that food became a way for him to escape. Stafford just seemed to be hungry all the time, because of all the training he did. Stafford would train in the training yard for almost eight hour, with decent times for rest for meals and such, as to not overexert himself. He would make sure his physical prowess was good enough, and would be able to be used in combat against any of his opponent. Barristan always told him that if both men possessed equal technique, and equal skill, it would be the strength and endurance that would decide, who would be the one, comes out victorious in the end. His father was much different from his original self, who did eat as much as he did. From what his mother had told her, his father had been just as muscular and definitely looked a lot like him when he saw him when they were to be married. Her voice seemed to express some sort of sorrow in this, but Stafford did not notice this.

Stafford continued to eat as much as possible. Stafford needed to replenish all the losses he had taken when he had been sparring with people in the training hall today. He had always taken Arya there, whenever he had the chance, but they would only practice swordplay together when no one else was around. That happened rarely once every few days, and he enjoyed it. She always got better with each session, and definitely seemed like better practice than his other opponents. Stafford would just annihilate Joffrey in sparring matches, and he couldn't even fight back most of the time Stafford tried his hardest. Lancel, got cocky most of the time, and usually became more impatient each time Stafford managed to land a blow on him. Stafford would use this and wipe the floor with Lancel, as he left himself wide open for all sorts of attacks. The rest of the sparring partners he had were usually sons of household knights in the keep, and they weren't a challenge. His only challenge was when his uncle would come by periodically to get some practice in, some members of the kingsguard, which he managed to beat Meryn Trant in a one on one sparring session. This caused a lot of uproar in the keep, because Meryn Trant was not supposed to lose to a boy of fifteen, who had no experience whatsoever in real battle. Boros Blount also fell victim to Stafford in sparring sessions, and several other lesser knights within the keep. The only people, who managed to beat him were his uncle Jamie, Ser Barristan, Sandor Clegane, and when Gregor Clegane came to the landing sometimes, and decided to pick on the squires in the training yard.

"Joff, I heard from several people that you haven't been paying attention to your betrothed," The king stated as he finished chewing and swallowing down some of the food. Stafford looked up from his meal, and quickly continued without wanting to draw notice to himself. It was one of those times in the damn dinner, again. Stafford wished Joffrey would just accept some of the rebukes his father gave him without giving a response. Stafford thought it would make the dinners more silent and calming, but most of all more family oriented, instead of arguing with one another. That never happened, however and Stafford usually ended up having to listen to arguments all dinner. He remembered that one dinner when his father had stormed in all angry after Joffrey had cut open a pregnant cats stomach open to see how the kittens had looked inside. He admitted that it was messed up, and he probably deserved some of the beating he got from his father, but Stafford had never experienced anything like that from his father. To the naked eye, it seemed his father had always got along with Stafford. The king truly seemed like a father to Stafford, and although they were sometimes distant, and Stafford felt their relationship seemed only a consequence of their common interests of food, hunting, and sometimes even women. His mother had sword, she had given birth to a clone of Robert Baratheon that never truly got to exist in the world. Everyone always told him how much they reminded themselves of Robert Baratheon from before he became king. Sometimes he wanted to escape the shadow of his father, who always seemed to dictate his actions in an indirect sort of way. The burden of being a king's son, who everyone thought would act exactly like him, seemed to grow big for Stafford all the time.

"I have! You just haven't been seeing me do it!" Joffrey responded. Stafford had wished he could shut his brother up right now, but he just didn't really have the energy, or want to do so right now. He could let his brother talk all his right now, he wasn't about to have another Winterfell incident happen during the family dinner. Stafford's full focus was on his dishes, and he was about to devour the next plate coming to him. Stafford sort of felt bad for Joffrey, though. Not matter what he did he never seemed to garner any pride from the king, as he had. Even though tried to ignore it sometimes, it became apparent to Robert's actions. He always seemed to value much of the achievements from his second son, Stafford rather than his first born. Stafford would get pretty mad about being overlooked like that too. Ser Barristan, who was also guarding the king began to grow uneasy to. He looked at Stafford, which was always his signal, that he could intervene.

"That is not what some of the people in the castle have been saying. Ned has been telling me that Sansa has been crying herself to sleep for a couple nights now. Is that how you treat your betrothed?" His father boomed.

"It's not my fault, she's probably crying over something else," Joffrey adamantly retorted. Stafford really doubted that, for the past few days he had taken Sansa on walks away from the castle, because she looked like she was about to cry with the amount of neglect she was receiving from Joffrey. She looked up to him, she adored him, and Stafford did not understand why in the seven hells, Joffrey seemed so cruel to her. It would be like him ignoring Arya all day long while she tried to get his attention. Stafford wouldn't do that, and he'd sooner resurrect the mad king than do that. If Joffrey did have an ounce of care for Sansa, he would not let her be like that. All Sansa talked to Stafford about seemed to be how Joffrey felt about her, and Stafford had to keep reassuring her that Joffrey was just busy doing his 'duties'. Stafford hated lying to people, but if he could give Sansa an ounce of hope, by making Joffrey seem more important, he'd do it. I'm sure Sansa would be a lot more happy, if Joffrey would take notice of her more. She might even forget about all the neglect too.

"Why can't you be like Staff? He spends a lot of his free time with Arya, and definitely doesn't leave her alone for long. He trains his combat all day and still manages to find time for her. I'm not asking you to act like husband and wife already, at least be friendly with her like your brother is!" The King stated. Joffrey seemed to have lost in and got up from his seat his face red with anger. Stafford tried his hardest to stay in his seat and ignore it, but he could feel the glare of Ser Barristan, telling him to do something.

"It's always about your favorite, Stafford isn't? Why can't you be more like him? Why can't you like hunting, or literally obsess over a damn axe!" Joffrey exclaimed, almost flipping his plate over still half full with food in it.

"Alright, I think we need to cool down," Stafford tried to intervene.

"Stafford's right Joff, just calm down, maybe your father did go a little too far, but there's no need to ruin dinner over-" the queen tried to say, until she was cut off.

"Stafford is always right! He's always the taller one, always the right one, and always the good one to you and father right? But in reality, he's just an insecure drunk like father. He always blows things way out of proportion, and of course you women eat that all up!" Joffrey exclaimed. Stafford got up after he just got insulted in front of his other brother and sister. Tommen seemed to be looking up at Stafford, while Myrcella seemed to be indifferent to it all like it was a common occurrence. Stafford beamed at Joffrey.

"Watch it there brother, you're entering stormy waters with those words," Stafford stated bluntly.

"Or else what? Are you going to knock me out like in Winterfell? Or are you going to beat me up with your little friend, Arya was it? Either way you'd just be proving my point, you're just like father. And that's maybe why he loves you more than me!" Joffrey exclaimed.

Suddenly from out of nowhere Joffrey received a swift slap to the back of the head from what Stafford assumed was his father, as his seat was empty. When Stafford had looked closely there his father was standing over him, as he was on the ground.

"One more word…" The king told him. Their mother went to Joffrey and helped him up. He was clearly crying now.

"Robert…" their mother calmy said. The king scoffed.

"Take the boy back to his quarters, so he can think about what he has done!" Robert stated, "Talking back to me with all that disrespect, not just me, but his own brother." Stafford kind of saw where Joffrey was coming from, his father had never really done anything like that to him. To Joffrey, it looked like Stafford had never received this type of treatment from his father. This was in part to the fact that Stafford's opinions relatively were the same as Robert's. Stafford also had a deep fear of what his father would do to him if he had argued with him, and he knew the consequence. He knew he would easily make an example of him as much as Joffrey. In part it was because he knew he'd do the same. Stafford dealt with all, who disagreed with him much like his father with much hostility. Stafford, however, did not see where he Joffrey thought his mother favored him more. Joffrey had been babied by their mother, and definitely spent more time with her than Stafford ever had. In fact, he looked and acted more like a Lannister than he did a Baratheon, which was the opposite of Stafford. Stafford had lost his appetite.

"I'm going to get some air," Stafford stated leaving the dining hall behind without looking back. Joffrey and his mother were gone before he could exit the dining hall; Stafford usually didn't really go out to get some air when he did this. He usually went to go to where the Starks were to see if he could find Arya. The two sometimes watched the stars together, or periodically explore the dungeons below. Sometimes he even walked with Sansa, when Arya wasn't there for some reason. For some reason, Sansa always seemed forlorn when they walked together, but she cheered up every time they walked together.

"Stafford, wait a minute," his father commanded him. Stafford before he was fully out of the dining hall, stopped, and turned back to look, "The tournament is a grand occasion, but due to the amount of competition in the tournament, we have decided to make it so that only accomplished knights can enter the tournament. We're going to have to make you sit out the melee and the joust." Stafford couldn't believe what he had just heard from his father.

"Surely there could be-" Stafford tried to reason, but his father just sighed and shook his breath.

"Staff, I already had to deal with Joff tonight. My decision is final," His father told him, "Besides, I already tried to tell your mother that you could enter the melee, but she wouldn't allow me to. Just don't take it personally. You'll still get to compete in the axe throwing" Stafford knew better than to protest his father, when he was like this. Stafford simply nodded and went on his way.

Stafford now disheartened that he was not going to compete in the tourney at all seemed like he would have to find something else to do during the tournament. Of course there was the axe throwing competition, but only northmen and a handful of other people ever participated in that. Stafford easily won those competitions, and most people don't even come to the tourneys to watch someone throw an axe at things. Seven hells, the archery competition receives more attention, and much more purse than axe throwing. He made his way to the Starks hall, and along the way to the hall, a well dressed man in green ran into him.

"Ah, if isn't my favorite nephew. It's good to see you, have you relayed the messages yet?" the man, who was clearly his uncle Renly stated. Stafford looked at him, and nodded, "What's seems to be the matter, Stafford? You're looking awfully down."

"Nothing," Stafford stated trying to hide his emotions. His uncle chuckled and from that instant, it seemed Stafford knew what he was thinking about.

"Robert didn't let you compete in the melee or the joust did he?" Stafford nodded quickly found out by his uncle, "I assumed as much,"

"It isn't fair, I could probably take at half the household knights in the realm in the joust, and I'm not even good at jousting. The gods might not forgive me for the things I could do in the melee against the competitors in the melee," Stafford complained. His uncle Renly looked at him. He had a mischievous look in his eyes.

"Well, Stafford I could help you out with your little predicament. Just give me some time to prepare somethings, and I can get you into the melee," His uncle proclaimed. Stafford was definitely interested in this now.

"How? Mother would kill me if I even tried to compete in the melee, let alone the joust. I'll be recognized by the entire realm if I did that," Stafford stated.

"Have you heard the story about the Knight of the Laughing Tree in the tournament at Harrenhal?" Renly asked him. Stafford nodded. The Knight of the Laughing Tree was a mystery knight who fought at the tourney at Harrenhal. He defended the honor of a crannogman, who had been beaten down by a few squires of tournament knights by beating their knights in a joust.

"Of course, I've heard of the knight. Mother used to tell me about it when I was little," Stafford told Renly.

"Think of yourself like that, we'll introduce you as a mystery knight, who only goes by the name Howland the enigma, fighting under Lord Renly Baratheon, being me, of Storm's End. I'll explain everything two days before the tournament, you know Tobbo Mott?"

"Of course I do, he made me an axe,"

"Good, meet me in his shop two days before the tournament, I'll have everything you need to have and know by then," Renly stated as he bid Stafford farewell, and disappeared. Stafford sure thanked the Gods he had an uncle like Renly. Now his dream of competing in a tournament, wasn't completely dashed at all.

Winning the joust would be the hardest one of all of things he needed to do in the tournament. He was not the most skilled rider, he did not have very good technique with a lance, and most of all, his horse was used to much slower mounted combat with a pole axe. His horse was trained to absorb hits and not to go at very fast speeds, but he could go fast if he wanted to. He had faith in his horse, but the joust would be troubling. There were plenty of legendary jousters like Loras Tyrell, who was a boy of nineteen, much older than him and excellent with the horse. Loras couldn't beat him on the ground in the melee, not by a long shot, but he had the advantage against Stafford in the riding. He would have to get past stiff competition to even think about of winning in the Joust.

He rounded the corner and he got even closer to the Starks dining hall. He continued thinking about the tournament. This time he focused his thoughts on the melee. Stafford knew this would be the event, where he would show his strength. His axemanship at close and medium range were among the finest in the Seven Kingdoms. He could beat anyone in a fight if they both wielded axes. Only those, who were stronger than him would even stand a ghost of a chance at close range with Stafford. He hoped Sandor Clegane or his brother Gregor would decide to enter in the melee. Stafford knew his chances against either of them were slim, but if he played his cards right, he could best one of them. Not in actual combat, but in a tournament. There were certain factors that Stafford could use to his advantage that could help him claim victory in a tournament setting.

Stafford didn't want to formulate plans for the tournament regarding his combat strategy, as he was better at combat when he thought about it on the fly. Stafford could not imagine having to think about a strategy while fighting. He would formulate a plan when it came time to do something. He would push the action, and force his opponent to react to him only then would he be able to use his true skill.

When Stafford got to the Starks dining hall, Stafford saw that they were currently talking about things. Stafford usually came at a time when they were about to finish with their meal, but apparently it hasn't been able to finish this time. Lord Eddard had permitted Stafford to come to their dining hall to get Arya if she wanted to come with him. Stafford was lucky he allowed him to enter the dining hall. The Arryns wouldn't allow him into the Hand's dining hall, they didn't allow him for some reason.

"You know my feelings, Sansa. It seems I must arrange Robert's games and pretend to be honored for his sake. That does not mean I must subject my daughters to this folly," He heard him say. The door was wide open, but Stafford stood outside it, as common courtesy. He never really entered the hall whenever he came, he just waited outside most of the time. He didn't really want to go into the damn room to invade the privacy of another family.

"Oh, please," He heard a voice that sounded like Sansa say. "I want to see."

Some woman Stafford didn't recognize the voice of spoke up. "Princess Myrcella will be there, my lord, and her younger than Lady Sansa. All the ladies of the court will be expected at a grand event like this, and as the tourney is in your honor, it would look queer if your family did not attend."

"I suppose so. Very well, I shall arrange a place for you, Sansa." Stafford saw saw Arya now as Lord Eddard declare. "For both of you."

"I don't care about their stupid tourney," Arya said, as defiant as ever. Stafford simply stood on the doorstep now, and he was being ignored by everyone. It seems they did notice they were there.

"It will be a splendid event. You shan't be wanted." Anger flashed across Lord Eddard's face.

"Enough, Sansa. More of that and you will change my mind. I am weary unto death of this endless war you two are fighting. You are sisters. I expect you to behave like sisters, is that understood?" Sansa bit her lip and nodded. Arya lowered her face to stare sullenly at her plate. She could feel tears stinging her eyes. She rubbed them away angrily, determined not to cry. Then, Stafford Lord Eddard turn towards him.

"Stafford…" He said. Lord Eddard clearly thought he had witnessed the entire event, "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," Stafford stated. Arya looked up at him, but she quickly returned to eating. Sansa just went back to talking with one of her friends that Stafford did not recognize.

"Pray excuse me," Lord Eddard announced to the table. "I find I have small appetite tonight. You and Arya are free to go if you want to," He walked from the hall.

"I'm feeling ill tonight, Stafford maybe on the morrow," Arya stated. She pushed away from the table.

"Pray, where do you think you are going, young lady?" Septa Mordane asked. "I'm not hungry." Arya found it an effort to remember her courtesies.

"May I be excused, please?" she recited stiffly.

"You may not," the septa said. "You have scarcely touched your food. You will sit down and clean your plate."

"You clean it!" Before anyone could stop her, Arya bolted for the door as the men laughed and Septa Mordane called loudly after her, her voice rising higher and higher. Stafford simply stood out of the way. Arya wasn't in the mood for it tonight. Stafford was about to turn and leave, but he heard someone call out his name before he got a chance to.

"Prince Stafford, mind if we take a walk?" the voice belonged to Sansa, who he was surprised to even be noticed by. Stafford seemed stunned, as Sansa had never really asked for him to walk with her at night before. She hadn't asked him to for a walk period, the only time she had ever even walked with him was when he ran into her near the red keep and they managed to run into the Landing and find the dornishman. He hoped he wouldn't find any of that this time.

"Sure, but may I ask why?" Stafford asked genuinely curious.

"I just want to, and I have to ask you a few things," Sansa stated. The men in the room stared at them as they left.

* * *

The two were walking the lantern lit castle at night, which Stafford had suggested were a perfect place to go. There were guardsman, who watched them at the distance, but Stafford and Sansa both felt like they were the only ones there.

"So what were you going to ask me?" Stafford asked. Sansa looked at him.

"Do you think Joffrey like me?" Sansa asked him, "I mean you're his brother and he hasn't even talked to me much." Stafford sighed. He wished he knew the answer to that question. In truth, he wished he knew his brother a bit more than he had. Stafford knew he could be a better brother, but sometimes he just didn't understand his brother.

"I'm sure he does. I mean, I don't know of anyone, who wouldn't like you," Stafford told her to try to reassure her. Stafford felt bad about this, he hated saying things that potentially weren't true. He just couldn't be as blunt as he could be with Sansa. Stafford couldn't hurt her with his honest opinion. In his honest opinion, Joffrey probably doesn't give a damn about her. And that hurt Stafford more than anything else.

"But why doesn't he talk to me then? You always talk to Arya and it seems like he always doesn't have the time for me,"

"Well, I mean, Joffrey and I aren't exactly the closest pair in the world. Seven hells, most of the time I hardly know what's going on in his mind," Stafford stated.

"Then he probably does hate me, is it because of the crossing?" Sansa asked.

"Listen Sansa, Joffrey will come around eventually. If he neglects you or even remotely tells you he hates you, and father finds out about it, he'll have another thing coming to him. But rest assured, he will come around," Stafford said trying her best to cheer her up. Sansa looked down at the ground.

"I hope you are right," Sansa said. Stafford could tell Sansa still thought highly of Joffrey. Joffrey just needed to stop acting like an idiot and do the right thing. Sansa never did anything but adore him, but he repays him with this.

"Are you excited for the tournament?" Stafford asked her trying to change the conversation to something else. The atmosphere began to feel heavy.

"Oh yes, I haven't actually ever seen a tournament before. We never had one in Winterfell," she stated cheering up a little bit.

"I promise you, you'll enjoy it," Stafford declared.

"Are you going to be competing in the tournament?"

"The axe throwing competition, but not any other event. Father nor mother would allow me to," Stafford stated not revealing Renly's secret plan to her. He wasn't going to risk losing the ability to perform if Sansa slips up and reveals Renly's plan to introduce Stafford as a mystery knight.

"That's nice," The two continued talking about the tournament together. Since Stafford had been in the meeting for the tournament, he knew most of the rules and who might be competing. He explained to Sansa some of the rules of the joust, and the melee, and some of the competitors. He told of some of the jousters, melee participants, and even some archers and axe throwers. Sansa listen intently to it, getting more excited and lively as she asked questions about it. Stafford and Sansa enjoyed their time together, and Stafford wondered if they would be able to do this again. Every time Stafford looked at her, he couldn't imagine how lucky his brother was. She was definitely a true beauty for her age. She was only two years younger than Stafford and three his brother. Stafford felt a little wrong he viewed his brother's betrothed like this, but it would be lying to say she wasn't beautiful.

"Prince Stafford?"

"Please call me, Stafford, there's no need to use that title around me,"

"Stafford, do you think we could do this again?"

"Whatever you want, Sansa,"


	16. AGOT Sansa II

**A/N: Well I'm back and I hope everyone had a great time last chapter with Stafford's POV. We will transition to Sansa's POV now, and we will continue with the arc of preparation before the Hand's tournament. Stafford will be fighting in this chapter, but it will be told through Stafford's POV. I was doing midterm exams, so I was unable to upload for the past week. Everything will be on schedule with posts on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday this week, because my editor have enough time, because we are both on break now. This will be the first chapter Sansa will begin to feel an attraction towards Stafford, but it won't be instantaneous "I like him instead of Joffrey" level, yet. As you all know this will happen when her father is beheaded by Joffrey, but her crush on Stafford will be on the level of what she had with Loras Tyrell, except Stafford isn't going after his own uncle instead of Sansa or Arya. I'm sorry to upset the people who wanted a Renly/Stafford pairing, but that's just wrong, because they are both related, and it would go against Stafford AND Renly's character. I had that suggested in a message to me, so yeah, we're going to put this to bed. Please continue the support and thank you for all of the support of the story so far.**

 **R.E.W. 4: Thank you for the kind words, and I hope that the rest of the story will be great to you. Thank you for the review.**

 **Vulcran: Sure, I might implement the suggestion. You'll just have to see what happens during the tournament, as I won't give spoilers in my review responses. Also, I recieved the message you sent me, and will answer it soon, I haven't checked fanfiction since March 5, so be aware I'm not ignoring you. Thank you for the review and your support. Good luck on your fanfictions and I hope everyone, who is reading this can go check out some of your stories.**

 _Sansa_

Sansa had been in King's Landing for a barely a month, and she never thought she would miss Winterfell at all. She liked King's Landing, but it was much different than she had imagined it to be. There was little to do than wander the Red Keep, and go about one's daily routine. There were no more knights, the old King's glory days were well past, and there was nothing she could do about it. All she could do was sit around at the tower of the hand, waiting for the prince that hardly came for her. And when he was with her, his mood would be as stable as a tower built with sand. His happiness was followed by torrents of rage, and his brutal words snapped into gentle caresses and whispered declarations of his love. She didn't really think much of it, though, and she still adored him. He was still her prince in every sense of the word. No one could convince her out of it.

But, with each passing moment she spent with him, she started a doubting her resolve about the prince. Especially when compared to his own brother, Stafford, brash as a young stag who thought more with his heart than his head. However, Stafford was easygoing, and he only had two reactions to whatever happened to him, a joy that radiated from him like a sun's rays or a black rage that poured from him like molten stone. There was no middle ground to his mood, and it didn't do him any favors for a public reputation. He stuck to his ideas like burning wildfire. But Prince Joffrey was like a stone temple made on pillars of sand, ready to fall apart at the worst of times. Though she tried her hardest, good prince left her heart aching and her mind racing to explain why he was.

So now, her feet echoed in the grand halls of the Red Keep, and only her shadow walked beside her. Sometimes, she would see the queen and talk about her sons. She grew fonder of her betrothed Joffrey, but she grew to like Stafford as a good friend. In fact, when Stafford wasn't busy training, which he seemed to do all day, he would sometimes walk with her. She spent more time with Joffrey's mother and brother than Joffrey himself, who seemed to be off doing other things, and his absence gnawed at the void in her heart. She wanted the prince she had rode out with at the crossing before they had got into an altercation with Stafford, Arya, and that butcher's boy. Stafford seemed to have forgotten about what happened, but Sansa could not.

 _The king's justice._ Lady. _I'll make her be good, I promise, I promise._ When her wolf's cries filled her mind, it took the Warrior's might to stop the tears in her eyes from drowning her and the fire in her chest from burning her up. Arya had been behind it all. If she hadn't been there everything would be different. Joffrey wouldn't have gotten bit by Nymeria, and Lady would still be alive. Instead, she had left Stafford and her to get Joffrey help. This was probably why Joffrey had resented her so much, but she couldn't understand why it had to be her she had to hate for it. She had done nothing but love him.

She just sighed as she continued walking, staring up at the sky and pretending it all made sense. She wondered what it was like in Winterfell. She wondered how Bran was. The fall would most likely change his life forever. It seemed like since the Baratheons and the Lannisters had visited Winterfell, the entire family's lives have changed. Both Arya and Sansa had gotten betrothed to a Baratheon prince, Arya being betrothed to the younger Stafford Baratheon, and Sansa being betrothed eldest by a year crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. Bran had fell off a tower, and her father had become the Hand of the King. Robb was left in charge of Winterfell in their father's stead, and even their bastard brother Jon had become a member of the night's watch. The Starks of Winterfell had their lives changed. Sansa wondered what would have happened if Robert Baratheon had not went to Winterfell and asked a different Lord to become hand of the king. She wondered what would have happened another girl had gotten betrothed to the crown prince. Arya didn't care about whether or not she would get married to a royal prince, but she did. Even if she didn't want to marry Stafford, Arya would be lying if she said she wouldn't care if she had never even met Stafford. The two seemed to be running off with one another in the Landing. They spent much more time with one another than Joffrey and Sansa did, and it made her envy Arya a little. But, it wasn't her fault, Arya had ruined it all for her what she had done in the Trident. If Sansa had angered Stafford so much that he wouldn't even talk to Arya, she wouldn't like it either. She didn't want to think of what happened in the Trident anymore, but it still plagued her mind like some disease that had no cure. It would always be there no matter how hard she had tried to resist it.

She wondered what had become of Odyn Sand. Though she knew, on the orders of her father on behalf of all the court to never speak of him nor visit him, she never stopped thinking of that Dornish madman who laughed and roared and japed as she and Stafford dragged him to the Grand Maester, the one she stripped bare as Stafford and the Maester's assistants laid him in a bed. His slim, broad-chested body was lean and sinewy, his muscles rippled and mighty, and though he suffered great pain, he had the gall to jape while cradling his guts and bleeding hard. His smile upon his muddied, comely face as he looked into her eyes had never left her. The sight of him surrounded by Maesters, in a white bed engulfed in the red of his blood had never left her either, and Barristan Selmy could never drag the fear she felt for him out of the room. _What will become of that Odyn Sand?_

"How the hell would they not recognize me?" She heard a familiar voice ask very loudly. It felt like she could hear and recognize the voice from a league away.

"That's what the damn armor is for, you'll be so covered in this plate, they would not recognize what your body looked like. You'll just look a like a tall bulky knight," another voice responded to him. She turned to where she heard the talking and soon enough Stafford and Renly Baratheon were standing in the middle of the courtyard. Renly was dressed in a green doublet embroidered with golden scrollwork and Stafford decked in plain mail, like he was just taking a little rest before he would continue to practice. What were they talking about?

Sansa strode towards them, and Renly had turned to spot her. He made Stafford quiet down a little bit, but the conversation had been heard enough to arouse her curiosity.

"Ah, Lady Sansa,-er we weren't exactly expecting you to be here," Renly began saying before Stafford cut him off.

"Did you hear anything?" Stafford asked probably trying find out exactly what she had heard.

"Actually, that was why I came over. What are you and Lord Renly talking about?"

"We were talking about er-training…" Stafford replied shrugging. Renly Baratheon seemed nervous and now that Sansa noticed it so was Stafford.

"Is that so? Why do you need to be covered in plate then? And why would be worried about people recognizing you in the armor?" Sansa quickly asked.

"It's special training you see. Ser Barristan had informed me that he needed a suit of armor to practice. Stafford wanted to participate in skirmishes once he becomes Lord of Storm's End when he's ready. He can't just wander out on the battlefield with everyone recognizing him, so he needs to conceal his identity, lest he would be targeted by the enemy. So, he is going to be training in full jousting plate with a hidden identity from now on," Renly quietly explained. It seemed like something Stafford would do, but even then it wouldn't make sense. Why would Stafford train in jousting armor? Though she had never watched a joust or melee before in her life, the lore she had read on the armor of knights had described jousting armor as heavier built than the relatively lighter-weight and more maneuverable plate armor she had seen other knights wear. The logic behind practicing in heavier armor Stafford never wore escaped her.

But then again, Sansa didn't really get combat or combat training in any way, so she trusted the two enough to believe them for now. She would still keep an ear out for any of their conversations about the special training to find out more about whatever they had been talking about. She might even ask Ser Barristan about it, but he always seemed busy with the king, the small council or training Stafford, so she lacked the appropriate times for such questions.

"Stafford really seems to be dedicated to training," Sansa observed. Stafford and Renly nodded almost with a certain relief in their faces. They did not seem to be pleased if they had carried on the conversation in the direction they had been going.

"Anyway, I have pressing matters to take care of Stafford, we will continue this later," Lord Renly stated as he excused himself from the courtyard. Sansa and Stafford were left alone now.

"Well, I better get back to the training yard, Ser Barristan had only allowed me an hour to rest, he will be expecting me back for more training soon," Stafford turned as he began to walk away.

"Stafford, wait," Sansa called out to him. She didn't want to be left alone in the courtyard wandering around. If only she could convince him to stay, he wasn't Joffrey by any means, but she hated being alone so she had no other choices right now.

"Yes?" Stafford asked a little impatiently by the tone of his voice, and he stopped and turned back to her.

"Don't you think you could use a little break from training?" she told him trying her hardest to make him stay to walk with her.

"Sorry, if I don't train hard I won't do good in the mel-" he paused for a moment, and continued, "in the long term." She didn't know what he was about to say, but it seemed weird how he abruptly cut himself off before he could say it.

"Isn't too much training bad?"

"Not if it's the good type of training. Look, if you want you can come to the training yard and watch. You can even watch the mock melees the squires and I do at this time. It won't be the same level of competition as the tournaments, but it'll be fun to watch," Stafford offered her. It seemed better and more exciting than wandering around an empty courtyard.

"That sounds nice," She told Stafford, "Sure, I'll watch." And with that the two left for the training yard, which was a long walk from the courtyard.

The training yard seemed like it was twice or thrice the size of the one in Winterfell. The training yard had enough dummies to create an army out of them in Sansa's mind. There were plenty of knights, squires, and even some Lords practicing in the yard. Ser Barristan met Stafford right after Stafford had entered the practice yard. Sansa watched as the men hacked away at the dummies, practiced their archery and some even axe throwing, and even men boxing one another with their bare knuckles and grappling upon the floors. Everyone was hard at work improving themselves, and she attributed some of it to the tournament coming up.

"Stafford, what are you doing bringing Lady Sansa to the training yards? Don't tell me she's like Arya and wants to learn how to use the sword too?" Ser Barristan chuckled to Stafford.

"I'm not, I just came to watch," she told Ser Barristan, "And who allowed Arya to practice in the training yard?"

"Your father did, we didn't really agree with it much, but they needed somewhere to 'practice' her skill with after she got a new fencing coach," Ser Barristan told her. Stafford grabbed one of the practice poleaxes off of one of the weapon racks and quickly entered one of the pens with other people, who looked his age entered. Ser Barristan watched over them.

"What's he doing?" Sansa asked Ser Barristan. Ser Barristan looked at her and gave out a light laugh.

"He's going to be training with squires. It's standard melee rules, whoever yields is eliminated and must sit out the round. The winner of the round must stay in for the next round, and whoever stays in the circle at the end of the entire session, gets some extra time for a longer break," Ser Barristan explained to her. Sansa looked at the rest of Stafford's opponents. There was one of the boys, who had golden hair and green eyes, who kind of looked like Joffrey and Stafford, but a lot more like Joffrey. He had a practice sword and standard mail on. There was a tall boy, who carried a two handed practice sword. He seemed like he was a lot taller than Stafford, which meant he was pretty tall. He is the only boy in the little ring that had a weapon, which required the person using it to use two of their hands. The weapon had to be used like Ice she imagined, but she hadn't seen much combat other than seeing her father behead people.

Stafford examined his weapons before the round began. Besides the golden head, and the tall boy the other seven boys all had a variety of weapons, and were all different, but unremarkable. The other squires looked like they were no match for Stafford and his axe.

"Alright, squires begin the fight!" Ser Barristan yelled and everyone sprang into action. Stafford quickly went for the boy right next to him. The boy right next to him, had a sword and tried to get into him with a quick slash to his side. Stafford seemed like he was expecting it and he used the wooden haft to meet the boy right at the point where he struck. Sansa had never seen anyone move like that, she had never really been in a training yard, especially in a full one. She had only seen Robb and Jon spar once, but she didn't really pay attention much to the action unlike this once.

The boy was knocked off balance and he was left vulnerable. Stafford clearly saw this as an opportunity, and he raised his axe above his head and delivered a swift downwards stroke down to the head of his opponent. The hit connected and the boy was knocked out and seemed like he was unconscious. Stafford grinned a little bit and smiled to the boy, and quickly stepped to meet another foe.

"Alright, someone help the boy out of the pit," Ser Barristan ordered a few aides to help out in getting the boy out of the pit.

She focused her attention to the tall boy, who was working on a much smaller boy. The smaller boy aimed to try to meet the much taller boy like Stafford had met the now unconscious boy. However, the sword was quickly knocked out of his hands as he met the tourney greatsword face first knocking him on the floor unconscious as well.

"Brandon, that's the second time in the moon that Desandreas has knocked you out like that. If you can hear me, because you seemed to be out, you gotta do better than that!" Ser Barristan declared at the top of his lungs. Sansa could tell the old man seemed dedicated in training other people, even the one's he wasn't in charge. From what Stafford had told her, Ser Barristan only took two hours with one more out of his day of guarding his father to train him. Still that took dedication, spending most of your time with the king and then training his son, as per his instruction. Sansa wondered if Ser Barristan had slept with the amount of responsibilities he had to use. Training a King's son and guarding him at the same time seemed hard and a very easily neglected duty.

Various boys yielded the fight in the pit as Sansa watched intently, and wondered how exciting the tournament would actually be. She enjoyed watching the melee in the pit, and became excited about what she would see at the Hand's tourney. If she could enjoy watching a bunch of squires and the son of the King in a melee, experienced knights should put on quite the show. Sansa didn't really like the fighting and thought it was barbaric, but she enjoyed the excitement of watching it and finding out, who will come out victorious.

The only boys, who were left were the green eyed blond haired boy, the tall giant boy with the greatsword, and two other boys skinny boys with pikes.

Without hesitation, they turned to one another and the green eyed boy pointed at Stafford and, they nodded. Ser Barristan smiled.

"This should get interesting, wonder how Stafford will do," Ser Barristan stated.

"Wait, isn't this not fair. My father told me there is no honor in grouping up against a man," Sansa replied.

"There is no honor in war, only victory," Ser Barristan remarked, "I'm training, Stafford for that. And if he can't handle this he **will not** able to handle battle." Sansa could only watch as Stafford had to face the four boys by himself. Stafford hefted his axe up high ready to strike. One of the smaller boys went after him first hoping to catch Stafford off guard. Stafford expected this, however and managed to deflect the strike with his haft at where he swung. Sansa could tell Stafford had been practicing or fighting with this axe for a long time. His technique with the axe seemed hard to describe in words, especially for someone, who had not seen combat. She didn't know how someone so young could use a weapon like that. Not even her brother could use a sword as well as Stafford.

The boy was knocked off balanced and sent to the ground. Stafford hit him in the abdomen with one good swing as he was grounded. To Sansa, the boy looked like he desperately grasped for air. The boy had lost his sword.

"Yield,yield,I yield," The boy managed to gasp as he rolled away. Stafford then turned his attention to the other boys, but not until the greatsword-wielding boy landed a solid blow to Stafford's side. Stafford stumbled back and received a few more flurries from the three remaining boys, even the green eyed boy. Sansa couldn't watch him get clobbered like this, but her eyes were pinned in place.

Stafford was hit in the head twice, and it looked there was a cut near his right eye, but Stafford wouldn't yield and stood up. As soon as a the green eyed boy raised his sword, Sansa saw Stafford's eyes light up. Stafford stood tall and blocked it. He then winded up his axe un fazed by some more hits, and somehow managed to knock down all of the opponents, who had teamed up on him. The amazing feat of strength stunned Sansa, she half expected Stafford to fall with all the hits he had taken from the boys. Stafford focused on the large boy, who managed to get to his feet first and he shoved him forward with his axe. Stafford spun a bit and gave him a hard blow to the legs, knocking the boy back to the ground. The boy then grasped at his legs, and the he put his arms up. The only two, who had not yielded was the green eyed boy and the other skinny boy. The two began went up to their feet simultaneously, and knew they still had to work together to even stand a chance against Stafford. The other participants were now out of the pen, or helping the giant out of it.

Stafford went up and attacked the other boy, while the green eyed boy tried to help, by hitting Stafford in the back of the head. Stafford impressively shrugged it off and managed to use the beard of his axe to sweep the kid off his feet. Stafford then hit the young man in the crotch, and the young man screamed.

"Enough! I yield!" the young man stated. The green eyed boy now alone without any backup turned to face Stafford. With some pride in him, the boy and Stafford exchanged a flurry of blows. The boy showcased a somewhat impressive arsenal, but Sansa could tell it didn't faze Stafford. Although bruised, Stafford smiled. After one more strike, Stafford had the boy on his belly and was about to finish him with his axe with a downward chop until the boy turned and put his hands across his face.

"This isn't worth it, I yield," He declared. Stafford lowered his axe and turned to face Ser Barristan.

"Impressive work, Stafford. Just try not to get bloodied up next time. Go clean yourself up. Your mother wouldn't want to see you like that, she would have my head," Stafford nodded with his hands proudly raised, and then fell to the ground. Sansa gasped at the sight of him fainting, she didn't really know why he did that.

"Don't worry, this has been Stafford's seventh time in the pit, he usually faints due to exhaustion at this time. I'll have to get people to drag Stafford out. He'll wake up in a few minutes, and try to get back into the ring," Ser Barristan told her.

"Doesn't he push himself a little too hard?" Sansa asked Ser Barristan.

"He does, but whenever you try to stop him from trying hard, he tries harder. He was like his father when he was younger. Whenever he wanted something, he did everything in his power to get it. It would be shame if he acted like his father when he doesn't get what he wants,"

"What do you mean?"

"The king is a good man, but every now and then he snaps whenever he doesn't get what he wants," He said with that please let me be right look on his face. And with that Sansa remembered to ask about the training for Stafford now that Ser Barristan had asked a full plate armor for.

Before that however, someone strode into the room, almost enraged. She recognized, who it was it was her betrothed, Joffrey, no doubt here to practice. She went to him, as Ser Barristan managed to lean Stafford up against a fence post. Stafford was now regaining his consciousness.

"I did good didn't I?" Stafford asked Ser Barristan.

"If you hadn't fainted, it would have been a perfect way to handle what you were given in battle. Then again, it was result of your stubbornness of not taking much rests to begin with. It's your seventh time in the pit today."

"I went through fifteen once, and I'm still alive today,"

"You spent two days in the sickroom for that, and your mother almost didn't allow me to bring you back here,"

"Like I said I'm still alive," He jested. She went to Joffrey and his face seemed like a look of disdain. She didn't expect this.

"What is _she_ doing here, Ser Barristan?" Joffrey asked with some venom in his voice. She didn't really like the hostility she sensed.

"She came to watch, your brother fight in the pit," Ser Barristan stated.

"Huh? Is that you Joffrey? Want to go a round?" Stafford managed to laugh dazed while he hobbled up. Ser Barristan had to guide him up.

"You're hardly in a position to spar right now, Stafford,"

"So what, brother? I can probably still knock you on your arse,"

"Anyway, Sansa, what are you doing chatting off with my little brother here?"

"I only came to wa-" she tried to respond to him, but she was quickly cut off from what she wanted to say as Joffrey furiously hissed.

"Hold your tongue, did I ask for your opinion? So, how long have you been fraternizing with my little brother here. I can't believe this, with my own brother too. I trusted you, but YOU GAVE ME THIS."

"What? No, it would have be-" again she was cut off by him.

"Enough, I've had enough out of your mouth today. You're lucky I have the patience to deal with such **disloyal** people like yourself," And as those words tore at her like Nymeria's jaws on Joffrey's wrist, and she began to feel the tears coming. What had she done to deserve this?

She ran out and didn't look behind her, covering her face. The tears were now flowing from her eyes. She felt like Arya right now, she hadn't really done this in a while.

She had sat there crying in an empty crying for what seemed like an eternity. No one had come, not Stafford, Ser Barristan, or even her prince, who had used such harsh words on her. He had suggested something that she couldn't even bring herself to do. If Joffrey had spent as much time with her as Arya did with Stafford, she wouldn't be around Stafford nearly as much.

Suddenly she heard foot steps, with one running and the other seemingly lacking rhythm. She looked up her eyes still a little red from her crying. It was Arya and Stafford, who seemed to be talking about something.

"He really did that to her. Are you sure I can't stab him again?" Arya offered coldy to Stafford.

"That's how I saw it, Of course I could have dreamed the entire damn thing. I apparently did so much and took so much hits to the head I could have imagined. So that's how my training went today, how did yours go?"

"He taught me how to dance better today."

"Dance? How in the seven hells will that help you?"

"No, not that type of dancing, a sword dance. Techniques that can help the swordsmanship flow like a dance. Anyway hurry up, are we going to the explore the passageways or what?"

"Fine, there's plenty of time, I'm not allowed back in the damn training room today anyway," Stafford stated. Arya suddenly paused to look at her, and she whispered something to Stafford.

"Okay, you go on ahead, I'll just meet you there, I'll take care of it," Arya left and Stafford went to her.

"What do you want?" Sansa asked Stafford a little coldly, sniffling and wiping the tears from her face and reddened eyes.

"Honestly, Arya told to check up on you, you seem a little-um how should I put it, forlorn," Stafford stated.

"It's because of you, with all the time I spent with Joffrey apparently thinks we're-we're-" Sansa couldn't hold herself back and started crying again. Stafford sighed a little, as she buried her face in her hands.

"I understand you need space, but I can't just leave you like this. I don't give a damn what Joffrey thinks. Joffrey assumes a lot of things, and they aren't true. He once spread a rumor I was having er-inappropriate relations with my uncle Renly, because I was spending too much time with him and I still talk to Renly a lot to this day. Ended up having to give him the brief history of pain with the back of my hand for assuming such vile things about me," Stafford recalled, letting out a heated grunt at the memory. "Anyway, don't let him get to you. I'm sure he still likes you."

"How do you- you do-don't even talk to him," She managed to say. Stafford looked at her.

"I've always been one of them boys. I've got a rough side, a wild side at least a mile wide, and a fighting side," Stafford stated, "But none of those sides allow me to get affected by any other person." She looked up at Stafford. She continued crying and couldn't even help it anymore. Stafford to her surprise gave her a hug. She didn't even try to push him away. _He hugged me better than Joffrey ever did._ _Like I was his betrothed._ The warmth she found in his arms, holding her close and tight, had warmed her aches and filled her sorrows with joy. In his arms, she found a paradise she never knew.

"Well, Just hang in there, Joffrey will come around eventually. But, I'll always be here as a friend, not just because Arya told me to, but because I really mean it," So she cried in his arms for a while and before long she stopped crying. Stafford left to meet Arya in whatever they were doing after a short while and she went back to the tower of the hand, wondering why her good prince had been so cruel to her.


	17. AGOT Odyn III

**A/N: Sigh, I know I haven't been delivering on my promises of uploads, but the last few days I had writer's block, and a big problem with the chapter I was writing originally. Originally, this chapter was not supposed to be Odyn's POV, but Renly's first POV. So we scraped I scraped it early Wednesday morning and got to work on this chapter. However, it didn't really fit quite well in the story, as some of the plot seemed forced and rushed. However, my collaborators and I have found a way to add more conflict to the A Song of Ice and Fire novels with this story, if that is even possible. Odyn Sand will fall in love with Margaery Tyrell, and while Margaery will not return the affections until much later, because of her queenly aspirations. This also means as far as I know she makes an appearance much earlier than she did in the books. And since I've already changed quite a bit from the canon (ie Stafford existing in the first place, Connington becoming Griff earlier, and of course Odyn's very existence), I decided to change this as well. Margaery's age in this one is eighteen, as if she was fourteen, she would be younger than Stafford, and two years younger than Joffrey, which doesn't make sense as in the canon novel, Joffrey was eleven while she was fourteen. So generally, the series will be once again using show ages, as Stafford's story would be impossible as he would be ten year old, and that is far less believable than his current fifteen almost sixteen year old form. Sorry for the long blabber for this chapter, and this time I PROMISE to upload tommorrow, the next chapter in Stafford's Saga.**

 _Odyn_

After staring at the pale red ceiling of one of the Red Keep's medical rooms, the bedchambers Lord Eddard Stark and the small council had readied were a true delight. It was richly furnished with the proud crimson and golden-bronze of House Martell, a bed with silks and pillows soft as sin, stocked with his personal guard and maesters sent from Dorne, and had a grand balcony with high railings, overlooking much of King's Landing. And on the morning of his second week outside the operating room, Odyn Sand felt the breeze upon his scarred face as he stood wistfully upon his balcony.

Though he had rapidly recovered in a short two weeks after his incident, to the point where he overheard Pycelle requesting samples of his muscle tissue, his maesters and guards advised him to stay and rest another two in this tower. Disheartened, Odyn relented to their orders. _Though they do not speak of my father's wrath, they knew that words could not describe their terror._ Needless to say, with a son of Oberyn Martell injured in the city remembered for atrocities against House Martell, the small council and Dorne's diplomats urgently and discreetly negotiated a peaceful conclusion.

Odyn Sand twiddled his fingers absent-mindedly and took a light swig of his flask, filled with wine. He had already eaten his lunch of golden beef stew and garlic bread, and his ruddy face had grown pale during his time of medication. His muscles had weakened slightly, but he regained much of their former strength. His arms, chest, and legs remained strong, but his innards required heavy rest from almost being outards. Thus he was bandaged, and maintained a strict posture. Filled with worry and not much else to do, Odyn Sand to a last swig of wine, and made his way into his room.

He strode past his guards and maesters hard at work writing letters for ravens they were to send back to Dorne, constantly alerting his family of his recovering physical condition. The guards were decked in long mail hauberks plated by bronze discs that glimmered in the sun, with red-bronze gambesons below their mail and an extra coat of translucent, crimson silk above their armor. Their faces were armored with nasal helmets with aventails of mail and bronze scales, with an extra layer of padding beneath their coifs. They carried bossed shields of ash wood painted in the spear-impaled sun of Martell, and wielded long spears. The ensemble of the Dornishmen was completed with a longsword at their side, and a dagger slung behind their back.

Indeed, their armor and weaponry was relatively heavier than the Dornish standard, but due to King's Landing's cooler climate and a different duty required than frontline combat, it wasn't unwarranted. And mail armor was light, and only made a minute and negligible difference in weight at all.

He strode to his nightstand and retrieved a larger round shield brought by his convoy and his longsword brought by one of Tobho Mott's emissaries to the Red Keep while he was still unconscious. Odyn beckoned two of his twenty guards to accompany him with a slight nod, and the maesters charged to keep his good health all rose nervously. "Odyn Sand, where do _you_ think you're going in such terrible condition?" A grey-robed and bearded maester gently held him by the shoulder. "We don't enjoy keeping you from your adventures, but you know your father's orders. This foray can lead you to even greater catastrophe."

With a gentle sigh, Odyn lifted of the maester's hand and gave him a stern look. "Maester Denys, I was simply leaving to spectate the Hand's Tourney. Don't you think I've recovered enough for a light walk and a carriage ride? I'm accompanied by a heavy guard and I haven't forgotten my weapons."

The maester gave a tired, begrudging grunt. "Alright then. We will allow this. But only this. And bring four more guards. They make for a better shield wall if needed be."

"Many thanks, Maester Denys. In your letters, tell my father I said hello." He smiled faintly and turned away, followed by four more guards than the original two. Picking up crates of his personal armor and spear, and handing the excess to another guard, he made his leave for a waiting carriage outside the Red Keep.

In his early morning stupor, the walk felt like nothing at all, down the winding corridors and flights of stairs in the Red Keep, and he soon found his way to an emptier hall than he expected. The nobility must've already departed for their extravagant celebration.

Odyn Sand was dressed in deep crimson silks with the bronze spear and sun of House Martell sewn on his breast, better finery than the last robe he had worn in his fight with that filthy ruffian. His long, scruffy hair had fell to his shoulders, and he had shaven his coarse beard to a lighter frame around his jawline and a styled moustache. His shield was slung over his shoulder and he wore a longsword and dagger at his side.

Outside the Red Keep, he soon met with an unassuming carriage drawn by common horses, large enough to carry up to ten people but not large enough to draw any attention amidst the grander entrances of the royal family. And beneath an early afternoon sun in a pale blue sky, he entered the carriage.

 _Have those maesters noticed me bringing my armament with me?_

On the ride to the tourney pavilions outside the city, Odyn kept the carriage windows shut out of security concerns from Dorne. The guards had sat the closest to the windows for easier for Odyn's protection, who sat in between four guards. _What a shame. Would've loved to see the city streets again after all these weeks._ He had, however, heard of the renewed bustle and crowded noise steadily growing as they approached the venue. Odyn turned to the guard on his farthest right. "You there, what's your name?"

The guard nervously turned to Odyn Sand. "The name's Moren."

"Moren, would you mind opening the windows so I may observe the guests in attendance of today's celebration?"

"Not at all. Please, allow me a moment to get these fastenings out of the way." He undid the fastenings and drew back the short curtains. After saying his thanks, Odyn looked out the window to survey the honored guests of the Hand's Tourney.

Time in the carriage had passed quickly, and there the carriage had stopped, outside a crowded pavilion amidst a hundred pavilions erected beside the river, overcame by the chaotic din of a great crowd. Every inn, building, and alley in King's Landing was filled to the brim with countless people. "Guards, I suggest we disembark immediately from this carriage. We can go no further upon these roads." Odyn then leaped down from the carriage, and his guards followed readily. He then turned to face the carriage driver.

The carriage driver was stout and barrel-chested, in a ragged white robe that shadowed his face. Beneath his hood, his round head turned to his passengers. "So, you all reached where ya need to get?" The driver's high, thin voice was soft and whispery, but reverted to a sharp and guttural snarl mid-sentence. _Have we met?_ Deep inside him, Odyn swore he had heard the man's voice. Whether it had been on the streets, in his travels of elsewhere, or from a delirium during his surgery, he could not remember.

"Yes, me and my men have reached our celebration. Thank you for bringing us here through all this. Take and keep whatever excess in dragons is in this pouch. A compensation for this traffic." He reached from inside his silk robes and fished out a weighty pouch of a dozen stags and half that much dragons. With a gentle toss of the pouch to the portly fellow, the driver caught his coin, muttered a low grunt of thanks, and drove off into a new opening amidst the roaring horde of people, back into the city.

Chaos had followed the Hand's Tourney. Knights from all over the realm followed by many freeriders, craftsmen, men-at-arms, merchants, whores, and thieves to steal their property. Odyn had heard and witnessed much madness following the hype of the tourney. Multiple robberies, rapes, murders, assaults, and even a horse race of drunks down the Street of the Sisters. He hoped that all the swords he managed to sharpen with Gendry and Tobho Mott were going to good use.

"Odd. Have any of you gentlemen met this driver before?"

"No, none of us recall anybody like him."

"That's strange. I swear I met him a while back. At least I heard his voice before." Odyn turned back to his men before the oddly familiar carriage driver drove away. "But that's besides the point. You all know the drill. Follow my lead, and save your questions only for those of utmost importance." He spun quickly back to the pavilion, and after lightly elbowing his way through the crowds, he parted the tarp and entered the central pavilion with a swaggering walk.

Upon entering the pavilion, he turned to the right of the entrance, and approached a steward upon a shaded table, surrounded by mountains of parchment with a quill in hand. The old man was thin and haggard, with a long beard framing his narrow face and squinty eyes. "Morning. What do you lot want?"

"This is where I enter the tourney lists, yes?" Odyn fished another pouch of gold from his seemingly bottomless robes and placed it down upon the table. "If so, then I seek entrance into the axe-throwing, archery, and melee."

And at his demand to enter the melee, the guards were rattled from their small talk and fell quiet, as if a viper slithered up their breeches as they napped in the grass. Moren, voice quivering beneath his helmet, was the first to object. "Odyn, us guards are willing to let you participate in trials of ranged combat. We'll be quiet. We won't say a thing to the maesters. But the damned _melee?_ After nearly _getting gutted alive?_ What madness has struck you now?"

Upon the Moren's voice growing faint, Odyn smiledand took a deep breath. "Madness? No, my friend, _VICTORY_ itself has struck me! I have always wanted to join in these tourneys. This may be one of the first times I may gain my renown amongst the lands. When has a man risen to glorious heights from keeping his head down in the sand and keeping the waiting glory of the world out of his mind? We all start somewhere, and hear I make my decision. For I have _dipped my hands in muddied waters, and have withdrawn them from the muck,_ and _I HAVE FOUND that it is better to be_ _ **a CHAMPION than a COMMON MAN!**_ "

And at that he turned to the old steward, frightened by the dancing light in the mad Dornishman's eyes. Odyn's voice dropped to a low, chuckling whisper. "I demand entry into the tourney. **Now.** " The steward frantically withdrew the appropriate forms for entry into the tourney. He slid them over to Odyn, and he signed his name on all three forms. He asked him to sign another three, copies given to the announcers and posted on the training yards.

And with great satisfaction, Odyn led his guards out of the steward's registry, and sat down at the closest seat propped up, watching the heraldry of the noble houses enter the upper stands. Even from the farthest of seats, Odyn could clearly see their colorful banners flying in the wind.

He already saw the direwolf of Stark, lion of Lannister, the stag of Baratheon in the upper stands and their closest bannermen. Even from the vast distance away, there was no mistaking them. Amongst them, amidst the closer pavilions of the jousting knights, waved the white banner of the Kingsguard, the three dogs of Clegane, the lightning of Dondarrion, the gape cluster of Redwyne, the twin-tower bridge of Frey, the eagle of Mallister, the runes of Royce, and the countless new banners of unsung freeriders, green squires, younger sons of higher lords, and heirs of lesser houses. _One day, the Seven Kingdoms may yet sing praises of their deeds and valor. Possibly._

"Hold on, that one looks familiar." Odyn halted the somber clamber of his six guards with an outstretched hand. Marching in procession to the field of pavilions, only a few paces away, was a long baggage train followed by the passionate roars of the common folk. The golden rose of House Tyrell of Highgarden was everywhere: upon the breast of their armsmen and servants, upon silk banners adorning lance, pike, and halberd, painted on the shields of all their men. And at the head of this grand procession, rode the dashing Ser Loras Tyrell, youngest son of Lord Mace Tyrell, the knight they called the Knight of Flowers. His intricate plate armor was polished silver and enameled with an entire multi-colored field of flowers, and his snow-white stallion wreathed in red and white roses.

"Fucking damn, that's some good armor, am I right?" The hushed voice roused a chorus of agreement. But even Loras Tyrell's majestic parade armor was rendered moot by the stunning young lady that rode beside him. She was statuesque, slender yet shapely. Her high-cheekboned and heart-shaped face smirked lopsidedly as she confidently rode ahead. Her mane of long, reddish brown hair shone like molten bronze in the afternoon sun, as it tumbled down her backless, sleeveless, and tight-fitting silk gown. Her skin was fair and unblemished as a field of freshly fallen snow. And even from quite a distance, her innocent, doe-like, and oddly sultry brown eyes left Odyn struggling to contain the fire they lit in his heart and in his loins. Even as she had rode past, he was still left struggling to find words to describe her beauty. Upon her horse, shyly waving and smiling to the adoring crowds of commoners, was Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden.

"My fuckin priorities. Where _were_ my fucking _priorities?"_ Moren was staring at her so intently he almost lost his balance as he leaned on his spear. "I swear, she'll be _somebody's_ queen one day. One way or another, she'll be a queen."

Another guard butted in. "She'll be _the_ queen."

"No. She'll be _my_ queen." The gaggle of guardsmen turned rapidly upon Odyn.

As Margaery passed on by, Odyn smiled and turned back to his men. "So anyways, my guards, back to what you were going to say?"

"Ah, yes. Thank you. As I was about to deliberate: Odyn, what in seven hells are we going to _do now_?! Do you really intend to fight such high calibre opponents and lose?" Moren was nodding in agreement with his fellow guards beneath his visored nasal helmet.

"I don't know. I didn't come up with a plan! I did _not_ think I would get this far. I'll just make it up as I go along. Always seems to work out for situations like these."

The guards exploded into a commotion at the madness of Odyn's plan, or rather, the lack of a plan. "But Odyn, don't you understand? We're fucked! No plan, no ideas, no back up to get us out of this mess if shit goes wild." Moren's face was deep in his palm, screaming more profanities.

Odyn simply laughed heartily and brushed off their reason as he had forsaken his own. "Moren, my armor and my weapon. If you've remembered to bring them this time."

"B-But Odyn-"

"My armor. My weapon. Bring them here."

Moren let out a grunt, his fellow guards silently leaning on their spears.

"Seriously, my friends, trust me on this. What can go wrong?"

* * *

It was high noon, and the summer sun shone upon the vast field of pavilions, a pale yellow amidst an almost cloudless blue sky. Stands filled with nobles from all over Westeros had flocked to see a grand display of combat skill. From underneath a massive tent outside a makeshift throwing range, a line of contestants walked, fully armored.

They were led out to the cheers of nobility and commoners alike. It was in the preliminary events of Archery and Axe-Throwing.

The first to come out was the yearly champion, since he was old enough to wield an axe, Prince Stafford Baratheon. He wore a light, gilded cuirass with the crowned black stag of House Baratheon enameled upon his chest and framed in ornate silver scrollwork and onyx inlays. Other competitors of note joined in the match, such as Sandor "The Hound" Clegane in dark grey plate and helm in the fearsome visage of a snarling hound, the monstrous and nearly 8-feet-tall Gregor Clegane, the black knight Beric Dondarrion with purple lightning bolts etched in his cuirass, and the young, charming Knight of Flowers Loras Tyrell.

But then the announcer had called upon one of the last few competitors, the most recent addition in this grand tourney. "And of course, we have… Odyn Sand of Dorne."

And after a light smattering of half hearted applause and confused whispers, a tall figure clad in crimson parted the tent's tarp and swaggered upon the field.

He was dressed in a visored nasal helm with a mail aventail, concealing his face, already armored in a padded mail coif. Beneath his coif, he was armored in a bronze lamellar cuirass, above a long hauberk of mail padded by a scarlet robe of silk. And underneath that was a thick gambeson, laced in bronze and gold. His greaves and vambraces were bronze etched in copper scrollwork of leaping vipers that shone brilliantly in the sun.

He walked to the axe-throwing range nonchalantly and without a single sound, save for the thud of his leather boots. Once the announcer explained the rules, the first round began.

In the first two rounds, nearly all the other axemen were eliminated at forty paces. Only Loras Tyrell, Gregor Clegane, Sandor Clegane, Beric Dondarrion, Stafford Baratheon, and Odyn Sand remained. In this brief competition, lasting only half an hour due to the speed of the throwing, the nerves of the competitors grew frazzled, eventually choking in a required third strike to the target and getting eliminated. It was hard work, quick work, and required all the focus and finesse a man could muster. Not one mistake from any man could be afforded. Yet in the heat of competition and against experienced foes, Odyn Sand had held his own, kept his calm, and never gave a single damn. Over the rounds, the cheers of his name steadily grew louder and louder, almost surpassing the support of more renowned names of Loras, Beric, and even the Prince himself. Almost.

After Gregor, Sandor, and Beric narrowly missed the target requirement at fifty paces, only Loras Tyrell, Stafford Baratheon, and Odyn Sand were left. But on a last and crucial effort at sixty paces, Loras was hand's span off-center from the bullseye, and was eliminated. Many of common folk called out foul play and more were awestruck by the sudden possibility of Stafford's upset defeat. No one had made it past eighty paces except for Stafford until the Dornishman entered the range. The cheers for Odyn Sand grew even louder.

Beneath his aventail, the Bastard of Sunspear laughed and japed. _Child's play._

He looked at the stands all around him, a surprising amount of common folk and nobility cheering his name.

On the final round at a hundred paces, the final two competitors were allowed a brief break. Odyn Sand strode over to his guards on the lower stands. His lamellar and mail clinked softly as his footsteps thudded. "So, what do you think? Haven't even put any effort on a single throw and I've out axed almost every other competitor."

"I'll be fucked, Odyn Sand. Did you even practice for this?"

"No. Absolutely _not._ The technique is quite easy to understand, but it is very hard to master. Even with my finesse, I am afraid I may be defeated by the experience and organization of Prince Stafford."

Moren clapped his hands on Odyn's shoulders. "Well no matter what, we have not been fucked over as of yet, so just keep doing what you're doing and maybe, just maybe, you'll win."

Odyn let out a rumbling laugh from beneath his helmet. "Win or lose, I have fun." And with a pat on the back, Odyn walked back to the range to meet his last foe. Prince Stafford, brawny and blue-eyed, stood with his axe in hand.

"Prince Stafford. Long time, no see. Glad to meet you again." Odyn reached out his hand, and the Prince shook it in return. With a stern look with his electric blue eyes, he let out a low and tired grunt.

"Odyn Sand, the last I saw you, you were disemboweled and garbage and muck were pouring into your wounds. How did you recover so quickly?"

"It's just a flesh wound. Didn't go that deep."

"Well, I have sorely underestimated your endurance. And as this final round comes, I wish you well, Odyn Sand."

"As to you, Prince Stafford. As to you." And at that he patted the Prince on the shoulder and walked back to his target. An axe in hand, he eased himself and laughed quietly in his helm.

The steward stood upon a raised platform and sounded the horn. In the blink of an eye, Stafford and Odyn threw their axes from a seventy paces at a target. Odyn was half a hand's span away from the bullseye, and Stafford's was dead center. The crowd cheered, but few groaned. The judges were scoring their shots, and the score totaled five to two and a half.

After half a minute, the stewards retrieved the axes from the targets and handed them back to the men eagerly. Stafford was smiling, but the steely determination in his eyes never relented. He knew that nobody ever made it past eighty paces. Much less a crippled bastard from Dorne.

But Odyn was laid-back, uncaring of his victory or loss. He crossed his arms and chuckled as he was handed back his axe.

And at the count of three, the horn thundered again. With brutal precision, Odyn watched as his axe made its mark, dead center of the target's midline. When he looked at Stafford's target, it was barely off-center, but it was enough to cost him the throw. He had tied the scores. Even through the eyeholes of his visor, Odyn saw Stafford in disbelief, rubbing his eyes and trying to comprehend his miss. Stafford turned to the helmeted Dornishman with a look of awe.

On the fourth round, as Odyn grew cockier, he twisted his wrist at the wrong time and sent the axe spiraling a full hand's width above the bullseye. The shocked crowd gasped, but Odyn just grunted lightly and turned to Stafford's perfect bullseye. With the baking hot sun upon him, he grew sweaty, and as this close match grew even closer, his nerves were roused violently. The score was then eight to five.

After what seemed like an eternity, Odyn raised his axe for one last time.

In the blink of an eye, a deafening crack of the wooden target splitting down the center echoed across the field. Odyn's target had fallen from the brute force of his last throw, and was knocked over. The whole crowd went the loudest it had been the whole thirty minutes.

But as the dust settled, and the target was raised once again, Odyn was revealed to have been barely an entire foot to the right of the bullseye. Stafford had won the match, and Odyn swore he could hear Stafford releasing a deep breath of relief before smiling and running to him. The final score was six points for Odyn, and ten for Stafford.

"By the Seven, I may have won, but that was one hell of a shot, Odyn. Good fight, man!" Odyn smiled from beneath his helm, and shook Stafford's hand as he patted him on the back. Despite taking a loss, Odyn's tired arm was raised by Stafford as he called out to the stands.

"This friend of mine has been the closest match I've met in my years of axe-throwing! Greet him as deserved by such a strong challenger!" Nobles and commoners and his own guards alike arose from the stands, clapping proudly. Odyn lifted his helm, and shook the hair out of his eyes, and smiled. It had been a good fight and a hard one. Prince Stafford was truly a force to be reckoned with. _Not a bad start, I suppose._ They cheered him on as he left the range to walk with his guards on a brief intermission between the Axe-Throwing and Archery competitions.

As Odyn walked with Moren to the Archery field, he was met with the happy greetings of the commons, for being the closest to end the Prince's winning streak. "Not bad, Odyn, not bad at all. For your lack of effort, you've come a long way," Moren was saying. "How did you manage such accuracy with so little practice?"

Odyn took a brief swig of boiled water from his skin. "It's all in the wrist, Moren. Never skip arm day, that's for damned sure," the Dornishman said bemusedly.

The archery competition had begun and Stafford Baratheon entered in first. However, this time he messed up and ended up hitting Boros Blount, who was standing next to the targets fixing something, not knowing the competition had begun. Luckily, clanked off his armor, and Stafford was the first person ever to be eliminated by scoring no points in the archery range. The Gods gave him skill in the axe, but no such skill with the bow

And another hour later, after a grueling test of marksmanship, a commoner named Anguy from the Dornish marches won the Archery competition. In the trial, Odyn sand had outshot Jalabhar Xho, but was in turn narrowly defeated by Ser Balon Swann at a hundred paces, shortly before Anguy beat Ser Balon Swann to win the trial. Walking back to the stands for the Joust, Odyn had overheard one of Eddard Stark's men offering Anguy a spot on the Hand's Guard, but drunk on his newfound riches and victory, the boy turned the offer down.

"Odyn, I never knew you were proficient in archery." Moren whispered to him as they sat upon the stands, awaiting the start of the Joust.

"I've traveled across Westeros, and I've been known to hunt and bag wild game whenever I can. But even I'll admit, it's far harder than it looks. You'll need strong arms to manage the draw weights of most bows. It took years for me to become half decent at it," Odyn said after he chewed on some mutton he had bought from a food stand nearby.

"Odyn! I need to speak to you urgently." A clear and booming voice rang out from near the lists. When Odyn turned his head to the voice, he saw Prince Stafford Baratheon beckoning him. And standing next the Prince was Margaery Tyrell.

"Guards, if you'll excuse me for a brief moment…" He stood up from his own seat, in the lower stands, vaulted over a few rows to the ground, and walked to Prince Stafford. "I'll be right there, Stafford!" With a brief sprint from the stands, he made it to where Stafford and Margaery stood.

Odyn's lamellar and chain clinked softly as he strode over to Stafford. "You called for me, Prince Stafford?" While he spoke he glanced nervously at Margaery. _She looks even prettier up close._ Her doe-like eyes stared at him as she smiled.

"Indeed I have." Stafford smiled charmingly, his blue eyes twinkling.

"So, what did you want to speak to me about?" Odyn said curiously. For all his insight, he was blind as to what the Prince himself would want with a man of his status.

"Well, my friend, I want to introduce you to a close friend of mine. Margaery, this is my good friend and honored guest Odyn Sand. And Odyn, this Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Odyn." Margaery outstretched her hand, and Odyn shook it firmly while looking into her eyes. _Keep it together. Keep it together. Don't fuck this up._

"The pleasure is all mine, Margaery. If I seem drunk, it's only because you're so intoxicating." She chuckled warmly and bit her lip. Her large brown eyes glanced at Odyn shyly.

"Thank you, Odyn." She tried hiding what looked to be her blushing at his words. _Don't fuck this up._

Stafford looked around nervously, as if looking for somebody. "Now if you two will excuse me, I have important matters to attend to." And with that, Stafford Baratheon walked off into the labyrinth of pavilions. He melted into the crowd, and neither Odyn or Margaery could see him anymore.

"So Margaery, I've got to ask: What did you think of the tourney?" Odyn and Margaery were walking back to the stands amid the gathering crowds of commoners. There were armorers and blacksmiths selling their wares to discerning knights, farmers and ranchers were offering their produce, and guards patrolled the makeshift camp.

"Well I personally was quite impressed by your skill in the Axe-Throwing competition. Stafford spoke highly of your ability. And you managed to out-throw my brother Loras, and you know that he'll soon be one of the greatest knights in all the land."

"Thanks. Your brother's a good warrior. I can see all the singers from Sunspear to Winterfell praising his deeds one day."

"And I saw you in the Archery competition. How did you train to get that skilled?"

"Well I am a wanderer. I've traveled all over Westeros and the Free cities of Essos. I go hunting game a lot. There's just something great about living off the land and losing yourself in the wilds. It captures this beautiful essence in our world that I don't think people really feel anymore. And the world is just beautiful. There's always so much more to see than what we think, you know?"

"I know how you feel, Odyn. I've always wanted to travel. So few people really _see_ the world as it should be seen. It's a shame, really." As the two walked back to the stands, Margaery looked into his black eyes. She smiled warmly.

"Hey, Margaery, can I ask you a question?" Odyn asked nervously his eyes, glancing at her.

"You just did," She responded jokingly. He let out a light chuckle. "So, what did you want to ask?"

"May I please sit with you in the stands to watch the joust?"

"Of course, Odyn. I'd like that very much."

Odyn smiled and swept his hair out of his eyes. As he and Margaery walked to the stands, Odyn was silently praising and blessing Stafford Baratheon, thankful for all the kindness he regarded towards him.

As the sun rose high in the sky, another horn sounded. It was time for the Joust.


	18. AGOT Arya III

**A** **/N: I promised everyone a chapter and although it is eleven at night, the damn chapter was uploaded on FRIDAY, 11:00 EST. Thank you all for the support. This is Arya's third chapter and honestly, I typed this up in about 3 hours of typing and a little skim edit, so there might be some continuity errors, and weird things. But a promise is a promise, and this time I'm not going to break a promise.**

Arya

When Arya had been forced to accompany her sister Sansa, and Septa Mordane to the tourney she fully expected for it to boring. And after she had witnessed the preliminary events, which included an axe throwing and archery competition, she remained unimpressed. Stafford had beat the crippled dornishman that challenged him in the axe throwing by barely an inch to dead center of a target at a hundred yards. Stafford's finesse with a handaxe truly was a force to be reckoned with. But withholding the remarkable accuracy of the Dornishman and his near-victory, the utter domination seemed boring and pointless to her, not to mention his utter failure to hit a target at archery, whom the Dornishman managed to defeat, only barely beaten by a Ser Balon Swann and Anguy.

She even thought, Stafford had fell sick and went back to the keep, because of embarrassment. The attendants had set up the introductions for the introductions of the main entrance of the tourney now. Sansa looked so awestruck at what she had seen in tournament so far, and they hadn't even introduced her precious visage of the knights in shining armor. Finally, they had entered for the tournament.

They watched the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth, each more fabulous than the last. The seven knights of the Kingsguard took the field, all but Jaime Lannister in scaled armor the color of milk, their cloaks as white as freshly fallen snow. Ser Jaime wore the white cloak as well, but beneath it he was shining gold from head to foot, with a lion's head helm and a golden sword. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides, thundered past them like an avalanche. Septa Mordane pointed out Lord Jason Mallister, in indigo chased with silver, the wings of an eagle on his helm. He had cut down three of Rhaegar's bannermen on the Trident, apparently. Still didn't impress her much though. The girls giggled over the warrior priest Thoros of Myr, with his flapping red robes and shaven head, until the septa told them that he had once scaled the walls of Pyke with a flaming sword in hand. Arya though he looked funny, and wondered how well she would do fighting him

Younger men, most had done no great deeds as yet, but Sansa and Jeyne agreed that one day the Seven Kingdoms would resound to the sound of their names. Ser Balon Swann. Lord Bryce Caron of the Marches. Bronze Yohn's heir, Ser Andar Royce, and his younger brother Ser Robar, their silvered steel plate filigreed in bronze with the same ancient runes that warded their father. The twins Ser Horas and Ser Hobber, whose shields displayed the grape cluster sigil of the Redwynes, burgundy on blue. Patrek Mallister, Lord Jason's son. Six Freys of the Crossing: Ser Jared, Ser Hosteen, Ser Danwell, Ser Emmon, Ser Theo, Ser Perwyn, sons and grandsons of old Lord Walder Frey, and his bastard son Martyn Rivers as well. Arya thought, these men didn't really have anything special going for them, and didn't see them like.

The Hound entered the lists as well, and so too the king's brother, Lord Renly of Storm's End. Jory, Alyn, and Harwin rode for Winterfell and the north.

Suddenly, one other knight stormed in with a masked destrier, covered in all full plate, which concealed all of his body. The destrier was black like the night. It strongly resembled Stafford's Destrier Orys, which unsettled Arya a little bit for some reason. The knight had a shield with a black lion painted upon the silver steel.

"Who is that?" She heard Sansa asked Septa Mordane with curiosity. Arya wondered the same thing, but she did not feel like talking to likes of Septa Mordane today. It was already bad enough that she had to watch the tourney.

"That's a mystery knight. No one knows, who he is. Rumor is the mystery knight was put on the list by Lord Renly Baratheon, personally. Don't know why he would do such a thing," Septa Mordane stated.

"The king's brother?" Sansa replied like she had been unsettled by the entire thing, "By the way, have you seen the Prince Stafford Baratheon by any chance?"

"Off to see my brother again I see?" Someone interrupted. Arya turned toward what was going on making her turn her head from the mystery knight for a little bit.

"Prince Joffrey…" Sansa stated.

"Even without him here you still find a way to insert him into conversation. Do I have to dye my hair black just so you will stop talking about him?" He stated as he smiled a smug, shit-eating grin.

"Why don't you leave her alone, Joffrey? Ever think of that?" Arya spat at Joffrey, "My sister wouldn't anything like that. But who could blame her if she did, Stafford has a hundred times more man in his little toe than you have in your whole body." Arya didn't know why she was defending Sansa after the way she had treated her. But, Joffrey was just someone you hated, and called out no matter how much you didn't like the person, he directed his ignorant vocabulaire to.

"Settle down children, they are setting up for the first joust. They are opening with the joust with the mystery knight is jousting Meryn Trant. Poor knight, I don't think he'll stand a chance against a knight of the Kingsguard," Septa Mordane stated. Soon the king entered the stands just above their spot, and Joffrey joined his other siblings and the empty seat where Stafford should have been.

"Where in the seven hells is Staff? He usually loves tourneys like this?" The king stated.

"He apparently felt ill after his performance in the axe throwing competition," one of the stewards stated.

"Did he beat the people so bad he felt so bad he felt ill afterwards?' The king asked. The green eyed squire simply shrugged, "Well at least the jousts are about to begin."

They finished setting up the lanes for jousting and the two first opening riders slowly walked up to one another horse. Meryn Trant lifted up his visor and nodded at the mystery knight, who did not even lift his visor, as expected from someone with that type of status. Arya could feel uneasiness as she's felt afraid of what might happen. The mystery knight had not shown his skill before and he'll either hurt the Kingsguard knight badly or get himself killed.

The two men returned to their sides, and surprisingly enough, Renly Baratheon was right next to the mystery knight talking to him. The person's helmet must have obscured his voice, so much that people couldn't even recognize him. Arya hypothesized that the only person, who could really know the knight's identity was Renly Baratheon. She quickly began to run through the several different people she could think of who associated with Renly Baratheon. She thought of people in the small council, and none of them seemed to be the type to be a mystery knight. The only other person, who wasn't accounted for was Stafford, but he was sick and back in the castle, so she was at a loss for whoever it was. It couldn't be Stafford, although he would be someone, who did something this gutsy. Arya saw Stafford leave on horseback, though with the boy, who looked surprisingly like him, so it couldn't be him.

Then, all of a sudden the two knights began to charge at one another at full speed. The mystery knight rode at a surprisingly fast speed, but it looked like he had little technique or control when he charged. It seemed like a ball of lightning, quick, but uncontrollable. The two clashed and the mystery knight landed a hit to the abdomen of Meryn Trant. Meryn Trant managed to hit his opponent's chest as well causing the two to struggle for control over their horses. The two returned to their corners and after Renly Baratheon said something to the mystery knight, the two rode at each other again. After four full tilts, the score was tied, 4-4, and the competition remained undecided.

"The mystery knight seems competent in the joust. Not many can face a member of the Kingsguard with such skill. But what in the seven hells is RENLY, of all people with him?"

"Only the seven knows, my lord," his green haired squire stated.

Both men looked worn out and once again charged at each other. This time the mystery knight clearly had the advantage in speed and power as his destrier had seemed to have been possessed by some sort of horse demon. Arya thought the horse had passion, but couldn't tell with the full helm if the rider shared it.

Only gasps were heard as the lances hit. The Kingsguard knight armor clanked as he hit the ground after taking a hit to the helmet knocking it off. The Mystery Knight had done the unthinkable and would move on to the next round.

"Unbelievable, how do I expect Trant to protect me if he can't even beat some mystery hedge knight? I should replace Trant with the damn mystery knight," King Robert Baratheon roared. Everyone in the crowd did not cheer, only silence could be heard from them. The only person in the entire tourney grounds, who cheered seemed to be Renly, "What's Renly so happy about?"

Renly Baratheon seemed to blabbering something and as soon as the mystery knight hopped off his horse, bear hugged him. The two seemed ecstatic. The mystery knight went back into the preparation tent, and Renly went away to prepare for his joust. Arya wondered why the two seemed to have formed an alliance even though they would be riding against one another in the lists.

"Well, the mystery knight won, Septa Mordane? Who would have thought,"

"I think the crowd agrees with us. No one expected that," Meryn Trant ripped off his helmet and threw it on the ground.

"I'm not going to be part of this SYSTEM, MAAAN!" He cursed among other things. He really needed to cool off, it was just a joust anyway. Meryn Trant got taken down his high horse, quite literally by the mystery knight. That got Arya even more invested into trying to find out, who the knight was.

After a while, they watched a few more jousts, more notably the Kingslayer Jaime Lannister, who overthrew Ser Andar Royce and Lord Bryce Caron. Then, after that the Hound and the Mountain defeated their two opponents to advance to the top eight of the jousting. The mountains second match before the top eight was frightening. His lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. The youth fell not ten feet from where Sansa was seated. The point of Ser Gregor's lance had snapped off in his neck, and his life's blood flowed out in slow pulses, each weaker than the one before. His armor was shiny new; a bright streak of fire ran down his outstretched arm, as the steel caught the light. Then the sun went behind a cloud, and it was gone. His cloak was blue, the color of the sky on a clear summer's day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one. Arya had never seen a man die before, but she seemed to feel nothing from it. Jeyne Poole wept furiously, but Arya didn't understand why. Joffrey laughed until he was silenced by his father. The jousts went on however, and the mystery knight entered his second joust, this time against Lord Jason Mallister.

Lord Jason Mallister, according to what Septa Mordane told Sansa was an accomplished tourney knight, he had unhorsed his first opponent like the mystery knight did. Like last time, Renly, who had finished his two jousts and had moved on to the next round of the lists was right next to him.

"This one should be over quickly," the king roared, "Meryn Trant is one thing, but this Mallister has been jousting since even before the rebellion began. Unless this man can joust like how Ser Barristan did against him in the tourney at Storm's End or he's as good as out of the tournament,"

The two faced off against one another like usual, they introduced themselves to the king and rode off to their corners. After another word of advice from his ally Renly Baratheon, he faced off against Lord Jason Mallister. The first two tilts were split, with Lord Jason handing the mystery knight two shield hits, awarding him two points, and the mystery knight only landing a torso hit, giving him enough to tie the score. Arya noticed how technically outmatched the mystery knight was. His momentum was not fluid, and he only gained the hit he got through sheer focus. Arya had noticed tourney knights looked away from the lances to prevent wood from slipping into the cracks of the helmets. The mystery knight didn't look away and the split second gave him an advantage for aim. That is how he is able to land hits on far more technically advanced opponents. However, he risks getting blinded.

"Damn, that knight sure knows how to stay in the joust," the king stated.

"That's right, stay in it, Sta-" Renly began and coughed to interrupting himself and he continued, "Stand your ground!"

"What's gotten into Lord Renly, today I wonder? Does he not know if the knight wins this match, he goes against him afterwards," Septa Mordane told Sansa.

"I wonder what is causing Lord Renly to support the mystery knight so much," Sansa stated.

Lord Renly handed the mystery knight some weird lance. It was quite literally a wooden lance with small steel fist.

"Wait, is that even allowed in the tournament?" Sansa asked the Septa, "That's a steel fist on the end of that lance." The Septa shrugged

"Father, are you going to allow this? That man has a steel fist at the end of his lance," Arya heard Joffrey say

"It's not giving him an advantage, there have been plenty of riders, who had lances like that, so that they look pretty when they break," King Robert stated.

The two riders faced each other once more, and then once they hit each other with the lances. As soon as they connected, the steel connected from the lance as it splintered. Lord Jason was now on the ground unhorsed by the mystery knight. The mystery knight returned to his corner and Renly celebrated with him once more.

"Damn, that knight is pretty good. How the hell could someone ride that well in the final tilts? He unhorsed all of his opponents in the final tilt!" King Robert asked.

"Maybe he practiced," Joffrey replied.

"That reminds me, why haven't you practiced jousting? Staff's been even since he started training with the damn sword. The style of this mystery knight kind of reminds me of his style of jousting," King Robert stated. Joffrey simply looked away and tried his hardest not to notice the comment.

When everyone was away, Arya looked over to her sister, Sansa. She looked eerily quiet for some reason after she had heard Stafford's jousting style mentioned by King Robert. She got pretty weirded out by it as well. That would mean the mystery knight could be Stafford, and she would have been convinced of it if she hadn't seen Stafford leave by horseback, with a full guard with him back to the keep.

The jousts continued as normal, however with Jamie Lannister moving to the top four by beating Ser Barristan Selmy. Thoros of Myr advanced quite well unhorsing Beric Dondarrion. However, Thoros of Myr was beaten by Sandor Clegane in a "great" match according to the others with her. Balon Swann was unhorsed by Gregor Clegane, which meant there were only two matches left in the day. Jaime Lannister, Gregor Clegane, and Ser Loras Tyrell, who had beaten their four opponents to reach the final four. The only matches left were the winner of the match against Renly and the mystery knight, who would go on to face Sandor Clegane to see, who would be the final joust. Only their part of the bracket was unresolved. Sandor Clegane watched as he would find out, who would be his opponent.

For the first time in the tournament, Renly Baratheon was no longer in the side of the mystery knight, but rather facing him. The two met briefly at the center, and stayed there for a little while. The crowd had begun to grow impatient, especially the king.

"Get on with it you two!" the king roared.

Then, the two nodded and went to both of their corners. After another short period, the two began to charge at one another.

But, right as they were in range to lower their lances, their horses slowed down and they raised up their lances. A mix of gasps and groans were heard in the crowd. When they returned to their corners, Renly's squire draped a white banner on his horse saddle.

"Renly Baratheon forfeits the match to the mystery knight," the squire stated. The king grunted, and everyone in the crowd was awestruck.

"Well, that confirms the alliance between the two!" The King stated, "Well, at we get to see the hound actually have some competition.

They let the mystery knight have an hour of rest before he faced the mountain. Renly was with him the entire way. He even helped feed the horse what looked like oats to Arya. She wondered if she could talk to Renly Baratheon and see who the mystery knight was. She got up from her seat, to see. They had entered the preparation tent Renly had provided for the mystery knight after feeding the horse, with two guards standing outside of it. She could easily get past them.

"Arya what are you doing?" Septa Mordane interrogated. She didn't respond and ran to Renly and the mystery knight fast enough for the Septa not to catch her. All she had to do was get past the guards. Arya made sure she didn't get the point where they couldn't grab at her and it would be finished.

She got to where the guards were and managed to do just that. The two ran into each other trying to grab her and she was inside the preparation tent. The mystery knight was standing without a helmet and she could see the black hair he had, but not anything else. He had worn a bandana so his hair was tied back, and the armor was so bulky, she could not recognize him from behind. Suddenly, Renly Baratheon blocked his view of the mystery knight, since they were almost exactly the same height. The mystery knight quickly and deftly stopped drinking from a water cup and put on his helmet, in an almost painful looking way.

"How did you get past the guards?" Renly Baratheon asked.

"Ran past them, you should really get some new ones, these ones are slower than your older nephew is at a parrying swords," Arya stated.

If things weren't already confusing, Arya saw the tent flap open again this time with the two guards and Septa Mordane.

"Arya! How dare you run away from me like that, at an event of this magnitude," the Septa told her.

"I just wanted to talk to the mystery knight," Arya explained knowing full well the Septa would not understand her.

"Well try all you will but my friend doesn't even talk much, he hates speaking. He's definitely not loud at all," he stated as he nudged at the mystery knight as the mystery knight finally stood beside him. The knight nodded, "Now if you'll excuse us, we have preparations to make against the hound." Septa Mordane was assisted by the guards and sent back to her spot to await the start of the joust.

And as if it were an instant, the two knights had stood in front of the king, one the mystery knight, now being referred to by most of the crowd as the last Knight of Castamere or even the Forgotten Black Lion, referencing his shield being a black lion rather than a red lion. She only knew about the knights of Castamere and their crest, because Septa Mordane wouldn't shut about how it resembled the knight's coat of arms.

"Alright enough introductions, just get on with it!" the king stated. The horse the mystery knight had looked very excited to say the least about the joust. It seemed like the rider was having trouble controlling it from what Arya saw. They returned to their sides and the hound and the mystery knight met at the center. They didn't even nod at each other to acknowledge each other. The two horsemen simply went back to their sides after the face off and once again for a moment just stared at one another. The hound was emotionless and Arya couldn't tell whether the mystery knight was as well.

"Just HOLD ON!" Renly yelled to mystery knight before the two went at each other. The horse the mystery knight seemed to enter another level. Before the hound could even get started the horse already looked like it had whirled almost twice the full speed she had ever seen a horse gallop before. The lance splintered on the hound and the hound's lance didn't even hit the mystery knight. The hound hit the floor with a thud, and the whole crowd was in awe. The mystery knight didn't need three rounds this time.

"It WORKED!" Renly roared. The entire crowd was in disbelief and some even gasped. The hound had never been unhorsed like that before. And the horse seemed like it had kicked into a new level. Arya stood there in shock it seems would be entertained after all by tournament.


	19. AGOT Stafford VII

**A/N: This was one long chapter, but I hope y'all enjoyed it. The little ending wouldn't have been included if I didn't get the suggestion of one of YOU reviewers. I will add the time skips to make the chapter seem more divided, but it might not be there for the first publishing cycle. This is probably the longest chapter I have written with a record length of over 6,300 words. This is Stafford's final tournament POV, and the cliffhanger will be wrapped up by another character. Stafford's true identity is revealed. Thanks again to Vulcran for the suggestion, and you can thank him Stafford's lets say interesting action. This blurb has probably made this damn chapter even longer so I won't get between anyone and the writing. The recent review mentions will go on the next chapter. Thank you.**

 **Enjoy**

 _Stafford_

Stafford fell down on the his bed, hard. He didn't know how Renly managed to get him to the Red Keep unnoticed by everyone, but he got it done. Stafford Baratheon didn't know how he and Renly managed to make it to the top four of the joust. First the magical herb that somehow made his horse go twice as fast as his full galloping pace. Sandor Clegane did not see that one coming, quite literally. The momentum of Stafford's horse allowed him to hit the much slower Sandor and send him to the ground. All though, that wasn't exactly the most honorable way to win, like Ser Barristan had always told him "The victory is where honor lies, not the way you achieve the victory". Stafford took those words to heart, and in everything he did, he thought that victory is something he always craved. Something in his heart always told him that if he set his sights on something, he would try his hardest to get it. If someone took something of his, he would do everything to get it back. And if he lost something or someone important to him, he would be unable to accept it. Today, he took the victory in the axe throwing, and moved on to the top four. Stafford also lost the archery competition in the worst fashion possible, a straight elimination from the competition. Stafford did not stand a chance against the competition there and he knew it. He could barely hit the broadside of a building. Stafford was also told by Ser Barristan, and Renly, "When you are outmatched, it is better to accept it and find a way to make up for it." He was never going to say he didn't get what he wanted, though. Stafford deep inside, knew that like almost of all of his family, Baratheon or Lannister; he shared one common trait with both of them. When he wanted something, he got it and he would do whatever it took to get what he believed he deserved. If he had one shot, one opportunity, he would rather capture than let it believed he need rest now, he would get the title he deserved tomorrow, Champion of the Joust. His uncle Jaime had won the melee when he was fifteen, and he aimed to be the first Jousting champion to win the damn thing at his age.

He had been hiding under the guise of a mystery knight for the entire first day of the Hand's tournament, after his axe throwing. From what Stafford had seen during the tournament, the hand wasn't even there to watch most of the jousting. He didn't care, he would show and prove his worth in the joust and the melee. He wasn't the best rider, but he wasn't afraid of anything. Plus, Renly found creative ways to offset his disadvantage in riding technique with something. He got past Jason Mallister, Meryn Trant, and even Sandor Clegane, even though he was technically inferior to all of them in a joust. He just had some advantages with his technique, which was risky, but he had to do everything to achieve victory, and every split second of aim in a joust was crucial to him.

He thought about the Joust more as he lay on his bed, in simple clothing, to make it look like he had spent the entire day in the castle sick. He had tied a sick rag to his head to hide some of the bruising he had experienced during the joust, especially against Jason Mallister. He also made sure that the simple clothes he wore hid the bruises on his chest, to avoid being found out by everyone. He lay there hoping to the Seven that no one saw, or even guessed, who the mystery knight was. If someone did, his chances of competing in the Jousting finals would be very slim to none, much less the melee. He had to hide his identity for as long as possible, he couldn't reveal it just yet. Just win the joust and maybe if he was forced to reveal himself, as was customary with mystery knights, he would at least get a victory under his belt.

He remembered Renly saying, "If you get unhorsed just try not to get your helmet knocked off, because I registered you in the melee, and I'm not about to lose income because of you." Renly had decided to bet for Stafford or him as a mystery knight, and all his upset victories had earned him a small fortune. After the Sandor Clegane match where almost no one thought that the mystery knight, which happened to be Stafford, would unhorse him, he saw Renly collecting bet money. Almost an entire line, including Lord Baelish, had to pay him quite the sum of dragons. Tomorrow, Renly was looking to gain more income, as he would be either matched with three almost legendary calibre opponents. He could get matched up with his own, Uncle, which people referred to as the Kingslayer. Jamie Lannister was a much stronger rider than himself, almost no match between the two. Since, Renly had exhausted the speed herbs, he hoped not to draw him. Ser Gregor Clegane could be another potential opponent. He was known as the mountain, and Stafford Baratheon knew he would be a hard opponent to draw. Ser Loras Tyrell, was the opponent he would prefer to go up against. Ser Loras was skilled, and unhorsed his uncle once. However, he was about his age at about nineteen, only about four years, more precisely three years and ten months his senior. He also had thought his style of jousting was a bad way to combat his own preferring technique over raw momentum.

While lost in thought, Stafford heard a knock on the door. He wondered who it was it was pretty late night. Everyone was tired, and most likely drunk after the tournament festivities. Stafford didn't drink anything, but water was not even close to his favorite drink.

"Who knocks at this hour?" Stafford asked whoever knocked on the door.

"Stafford, we need to talk," the voice responded. Stafford recognized the voice. It was clearly his mother. Stafford didn't seem all that surprised by this, she sometimes visited this late at night. Stafford managed to get off the bed, which took a lot of willpower in itself. Stafford did not feel like himself anymore after the grueling first day of jousting. He opened the door and saw his mother standing outside the doorway.

"Mother, come inside I guess," Stafford stated as he let his mother inside the room. She had a look of concern on her. Stafford closed the door after she came inside and made sure to relock the door.

"How are you feeling? I didn't see you at the tournament all day today. You usually love tournaments," his mother told him. _I was at the tournament, except I had to wear a god damned helmet to disguise myself_. Stafford wanted to say that, but he felt it would compromise his chances at even just competing at the grandest stage of them all, a grand final joust. First, he had to beat his first opponent tomorrow to guarantee his spot in the finals.

"I wasn't feeling all that well, must have been the water I drank after the competitions have ended," Stafford suggested although deep inside Stafford knew his reasons were lies.

"Robert had been talking about you all tournament long, especially after we all had to witness a mystery knight unhorse multiple skilled opponents," his mother stated, "While checking on your health was one of the reasons I came here, but not really the main reason I came here." Stafford, a little nervous now sat down on his bed. His mother sat right beside him.

"What is the reason then?" Stafford asked very shakingly.

"While the feast after most of the jousts had finished, your brother has been especially concerned about your relationship with his betrothed," his mother told him. Stafford let out a sigh of relief. It seemed it wasn't about the damned mystery knight, but Joffrey's incessant paranoia that Sansa was apparently having inappropriate relationships with him.

"Joffrey has been literally proclaiming this for months now. Considering he doesn't spend much time with her, it would be quite easy for him to get that idea. The truth is I have no interest in that. I have better things to worry about like then jo-bs I have to do in training," Stafford stated almost defensively. Joffrey seemed to think that Sansa seemed to 'enjoying the company of him' behind his back, and Stafford thought that was ludicrous. In his eyes he seemed like he was too young to fall in love, sure he may have had a few let's say romantic encounters in the past, but none of that ever equated to love at all. Joffrey Baratheon just seemed to think, Stafford was out to get everything he had possessed and seemed to look at whatever Stafford did as a threat to his cause. To often, that was the case, as most of the things Stafford did were morally and clearly the opposite of what his brother had done or planned to do.

"Stafford, I'm not trying to accuse you of anything here. I'm here to find out why you and Joffrey to never get along. We're meant to be family not enemies. And whatever isn't our family should be our enemies," his mother told him. His mother had always repeated this line to him many times. Anyone one, who isn't us was against us. Stafford understood what made his mother feel this way. And frankly he sort of agreed with her. The kingdom was filled with many families, and most of them were willing to use deception, lies and whatever it took to control the kingdom. Trusting too much in another, that is not your kin would be a folly. Stafford understood this, but when his kin would hate and disrespect his very existence, it was hard to fully commit himself to that belief. Stafford go along with Arya and Sansa more than he did Joffrey, so that alone sort of proved his mother's thinking wrong. But something in him told him it was true too, just look at Renly and Stannis. It seemed like they backed him in everything that he did. Stannis gave him a ship of his own, including a captain for the ship, which he never used known as the Eye of the Storm for his fifteenth birthday in Storm's End. Renly had helped him with his plans and shenanigans for as long as he could remember. Renly even proclaimed Stafford his undisputed heir to Storm's End, which he would inherit when he decided he was ready, which surprised everyone.

"Mother, my relations with Joffrey isn't that simple. Every time I try to get closer to him and form a bond with him, he pushes me away. He resents me more than father hates Targaryens if that's possible,"

"Don't say that I'm sure, he'll open up to you soon. You have to give him time," His mother stated. _I've given him plenty of time, but he never seems to take any of the chances I've given him to mend our relationship_.

"I've given him time. All he does is push the time back to my face with curses complete with it," Stafford replied.

"Then give him more time. By the gods, Stafford, you two are flesh and blood. You two are about as close as Robert is to Stannis," His mother remarked as she looked down to the ground.

"At least Uncle Stannis recognizes and even supports my father, no matter how twisted their relationship has become. He respects father and in turn father seems to respect him back. They certainly don't love each other by any means. I haven't heard both of them even mention their brother while they speak to me in a high regard, but at least the respect is there. Joffrey seems to hate me," Stafford explained.

"Then I'll talk to Joffrey in the same way as I did to you, tonight. I'll do whatever it takes to mend your relationship with him. I've grown tired of his complaining about you, and your constant conflicts with your own brother. But it's true I don't understand what it feels like to not have a close relationship with a sibling," His mother told him.

"It's not that mother. My other siblings, Tommen and Myrcella don't seem to hate me as much as Joffrey does. If you can help me with our relationship, it would be a welcome change to being at each other's throats almost every day," Stafford stated.

"I'm glad you understand Stafford," She suddenly paused after saying that and poked at a bruise in his chest. Stafford was so surprised at the pain he received from that he flinched backwards, "Where did you get that? You haven't sparred or practiced swordplay ever since the tournament started. As far as I recall, you weren't allowed in the training grounds." Stafford's uneasiness returned as soon as his mother brought it up. He should have been more careful not to show any of the bruises. It would arouse suspicion through everyone. He needed to think of something quick to try to explain the bruises.

"I didn't notice it. I must have hit something when I was trashing around in bed earlier," Stafford stated to try to explain the bruising. His mother felt his neck.

"You seem hot, do I need to send for the Maester for some poultice?" His mother stated.

"No, mother. I can handle it for the night. I'll just sweat the fever out," Stafford replied. Stafford was lucky that exhaustion mimicked the symptoms of a fever, or it would definitely have given him away a lot easier.

"You sure? Get some rest, I don't think you should got the tourney tomorrow. It's too bad, you would have enjoyed the mystery knight, though. I'm sure Robert will tell you a lot about him, though," his mother stated. She kissed him in the forehead and put him to bed. She left soon after closing the door behind her. Stafford felt like he was a child again, and Stafford felt himself being enshrouded in happiness for a split second. He would be even more happier when he won the tourney. And that would be a fact. At least his 'fever' would excuse him from the tournament. And he hoped that Pycelle wouldn't be called to keep watch over him or send him to the sickroom. That would definitely end his tournament hopes.

Getting out of the damned castle was harder than he had hoped to do. Apparently, his mother decided not to attend the second day of the joust, so she was watching Stafford's room closely. She would check on him almost every hour. However, his uncle Renly had his back on this one. Renly managed to convince her to let him go the tournament with him, and since she would not be at the tournament, Stafford would be able to be the mystery knight in the tournament. She would not keep a close eye on Stafford, even though she tried getting some guards and retainers to watch Stafford. Those guards and retainers were swiftly and cunningly bribed by Renly, which Stafford found very convenient.

After a relatively short introduction, the riders drew their lots and saw, who they were going to face in the tilt. Stafford adorned in his full mystery knight armor, which he found uncomfortable at best drew his opponent first for his first tilt. Stafford Baratheon drew an opponent he dreaded that he would draw. He drew the Kingslayer Jamie Lannister. Great this will certainly be hard to win.

Stafford sat on a bench with his helmet on in the preparation tent. As much discomfort the armor caused, Stafford clearly didn't like what nervous energy he felt within him. Stafford could feel like his belly would burst with both the anxiety and excitement, he felt about the damn jousting. He would joust and defeat the the damn people, who were set upon him. Most people would think that Stafford would need a miracle to win the joust in a fair fashion, but in reality it would take the second coming of the white walkers, who were a wet nurses' tale to scare children to have him win a fair joust with a skilled opponent as his uncle. That's why he had to resort to some let's say 'dishonorable tactics' to win his jousts with Sandor Clegane, Jason Mallister, but not so much Meryn Trant, he fell to him more easily than his other opponents, who did not make the Top Four, because of him. Renly quickly entered the tent after a few minutes of sitting with the other competitors.

"You ready?" Renly asked him with a bit of anxiety in his eyes as well. Stafford nodded and looked to his opponent Jamie, who was chatting with his squire about something. Stafford noticed his uncle maintained eye contact with him all throughout his chat with his squire, who was making his last adjustments to his gear. Stafford squire wasn't here at the moment. Yesterday he was, he made the 'return to the castle on horseback for him' and came back. Renly used the fact that the blacksmith's boy, who had helped Renly gather some high quality jousting and melee gear, looked like Stafford, so most people if you don't look up close would think it was Stafford riding away and not Gendry. Gendry came back to help them, but no one really noticed his existence. In fact, when Arya had wandered into the damn tent, Gendry was getting them more refreshments, so he was hardly noticed by anyone except the guards. But this time, he seemed to be actually not present.

"Good, where the hell is the boy when we need him most. He'll need to adjust your armor before the joust with the Kingslayer. The seven knows you'll need to be in your best condition for that damned joust," Renly stated. His uncle seemed to have heard this, and after the squire was finished making the final adjustments to his armor, he walked over to them.

"Having trouble find your squire? There have been so many wandering about that its hard to figure out where most of them are eh?" Jamie stated as he faced Stafford. Stafford couldn't say anything back to him. Although, the damned helmet distorted his voice pretty well, that no one could really recognize what was behind the tin man hat, he would not risk revealing his identity right before one of the biggest jousts in his life. Stafford had to win the joust in order to accomplish his goal of winning both the joust and the melee. The melee was the final event in the tournament. The preliminaries would be the same day as the jousting finals to make the show last longer. There would be plenty to watch it. But right now all the thoughts Stafford had in his mind focused on the joust.

"Why don't you go over to your squire and we'll just talk after he knocks you off your horse," Renly viciously tried to retort.

"You need to settle down, Renly. Are you the knight's mouthpiece? Can he not speak for himself?" His uncle asked jokingly, "I'll see you out on the tilts shortly. I wish you the best of luck out there, you are definitely going to need it against me."

Stafford grunted and it could be heard from behind his helmet. _We shall see, who comes out victorious on this day uncle we shall see._

Before Stafford knew it, he was in the lists against his own uncle against him. He took up his position. He didn't have a visor, because his helmet was designed to conceal his identity. Therefore there was only a straight slit, the allowed him to see, but no one could see what his eyes looked like. He didn't know what Tobho Mott did to make such high quality armor for him, but it sure was appreciated from Stafford. He sure didn't want to be seen by anyone or even recognized for that matter. That was a what a mystery knight did, conceal, and Stafford sure seemed to be good at it, even though he never thought he would be.

"A hundred golden dragons on the Kingslayer," Lord Baelish announced loudly as Jaime Lannister entered the lists, riding an elegant blood bay destrier. The horse wore a blanket of gilded ringmail, and Jaime glittered from head to heel. Even his lance was fashioned from the golden wood of the Summer Isles.

"Done," Lord Renly shouted back. "I have full faith in the knight by my side right now."

"That's not the only thing you like about the knight by your side. I'm sure he has plenty of full things under that armor for you Renly," Lord Baelish called dryly. Lord Baelish, would probably regret that comment if he knew, who was really underneath the damn disguise.

Ser Jaime tossed a kiss to some woman in the commons, gently lowered his visor, and rode to the end of the lists. Both riders couched their lances. The hastily erected gallery trembled as the horses broke into a gallop. Stafford kept himself leaned forward, and tried his hardest to make the impact on his uncle when they were about to meet. He kept his eyes trained on him, and didn't look away, like he always had, but his uncle shifted his seat deftly in the instant before impact. Stafford's point was turned harmlessly against the golden shield with the lion blazon, while his own hit square. Wood shattered, and the Stafford reeled, fighting to keep his seat. Stafford was hit squarely in the face. He was already down 4-0 during the first tilt. He had three tilts to make up for such a large lead. A thunderous cheer went up from the commons.

"I wonder how I ought spend your money," Lord Baelish called down to Renly. Renly remained silent as Stafford came back for the second pass. As soon as Renly got within distance, he told Stafford something.

"You're doing fine, just stay on your horse. I've got a risky plan for the damn third tilt, if you still haven't scored anything," Renly stated.

Stafford's second pass with uncle went worse, he hit him square in the center of his abdomen causing a six point move, meaning the score was 10-0. Stafford would have to unhorse his uncle to beat him in this tilt. His tournament was now hanging in the balance. He returned to his corner where finally, Gendry had arrived with something.

"About time you got it, give it to him," Renly stated. The lance looked like the fisted lance he had against Lord Jason Mallister. His uncle tossed down his broken lance and snatched up a fresh one, jesting with his squire, "He is shifting his seat Stafford, shift with him and especially with this lance, you'll win. I can guarantee that," he stated almost softly. Stafford didn't know about how certain his victory was, but he surely thought he had a better chance in this once then he had been given. But he had no choice, so he would implement his uncle's strategy.

Stafford spurred forward at a hard gallop. His uncle rode to meet him. This time, when Jaime shifted his seat, Stafford Baratheon shifted with him. Both lances exploded, and by the time the splinters had settled, a riderless blood bay was trotting off in search of grass while Ser Jaime Lannister rolled in the dirt, golden and dented.

"A pity the Imp is not here with us," Lord Renly called out. "I should have won twice as much." His uncle was back on his feet, but his ornate lion helmet had been twisted around and dented in his fall, and now he could not get it off. The commons were hooting and pointing, the lords and ladies were trying to stifle their chuckles, and failing, and over it all Ned could hear Robert Baratheon laughing, louder than anyone. Now they had to lead his uncle off the field. Stafford as ecstatic that he had somehow managed to unhorse his uncle and move on, rode his horse back and went into the preparation tent.

However, right before the joust that would decide, who he would face, went out of the preparation tent and watched from behind Loras Tyrell's side of the tilts. Stafford needed to see, who he would face. Today, was different though, he couldn't tear his eyes away from Sansa. He's already been in plenty of trouble for spending time with her, but she stood there with her father today. Arya wasn't there at all today, which surprised Stafford. But she just stood there, and she looked exceptionally beautiful. Her eyes just seemed to sparkle and her hair seemed to flow ever so gracefully. Stafford Baratheon looked towards the damned joust, that was the thing he should focus on, not Sansa. However, she whispered something to her father and her father said something back. Stafford wondered what that was, he honestly couldn't tell what they were saying.

The Knight of Flowers saluted the king, rode to the far end of the list, and couched his lance, ready. Ser Gregor brought his animal to the line, fighting with the reins. And suddenly it began. The Mountain's stallion broke in a hard gallop, plunging forward wildly, while the mare charged as smooth as a flow of silk. Ser Gregor wrenched his shield into position, juggled with his lance, and all the while fought to hold his unruly mount on a straight line, and suddenly Loras Tyrell was on him, placing the point of his lance just there, and in an eye blink the Mountain was failing. He was so huge that he took his horse down with him in a tangle of steel and flesh.

That was unexpected, Stafford straightened himself up. Stafford Baratheon, went back inside tent, but when the mountain got up from his predicament of getting unhorsed. Stafford knew that Loras had to have done something to unhorse the mountain that quickly, then again he did the same exact thing to the hound.

"My sword," he shouted to his squire, and the boy ran it out to him. By then his stallion was back on its feet as well. Gregor Clegane killed the horse with a single blow of such ferocity that it half severed the animal's neck. Cheers turned to shrieks in a heartbeat. By then Gregor was striding down the lists toward Ser Loras Tyrell, his bloody sword clutched in his fist.

Ser Gregor swung his sword, a savage two-handed blow that took the boy in the chest and knocked him from the saddle. The courser dashed away in panic as Ser Loras lay stunned in the dirt. But as Gregor lifted his sword for the killing blow, a rasping voice warned, "Leave him be," and a steel-clad hand wrenched him away from the boy.

Then in an instant there was a melee between the two brothers. Stafford signaled Gendry, who knew what it meant right away. Gendry threw him his pole axe, this one was sharpened and could definitely do some damaged. He intercepted the two with parries, and this made Gregor particularly mad.

"You dare oppose me?" Gregor asked. Stafford was knocked to the ground after he was swept with a great sword, and he managed to pull his helmet down so it didn't come off him.

"STOP THIS MADNESS," he boomed, "IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING" Ser Gregor almost delivered a crushing blow to grounded Stafford's head, but he stopped and regained his senses.

"We still have one final joust, Ser Loras are you able to compete?" The king asked.

"Of course," He stated brushing off, "Thanks for your help though Ser knight. Wish you the best of luck in our joust. Thanks for the help as well, Ser Sandor Clegane,"

"I am no knight," Sandor stated and he retreated back to the pavilion. Stafford got back up and went back to the preparation tent to get ready for the next joust.

The finals were set and as soon as the lists were ready again, the two faced each other in the middle. Renly was still right in Stafford's side of the jousting ready to root his nephew to a victory. Renly seemed to be having mixed feelings about rooting against Ser Loras Tyrell, however, but Stafford attributed that to their history and friendship. They were thick as thieves. Stafford got back to his corner and stared at his opponent. The mare hardly influenced his warhorse Orys, who seemed focus on the victory. It seemed it might help Orys too, because Orys seemed to have a renewed vigor in him. Stafford drew speed and confronted Loras Tyrell. The two collided each other like two different rocks in colliding after being launched by a catapult. Stafford Baratheon landed a hit square on his shield, even with the excellent square shield hit from Loras. The score was now 7-7, one of the highest scoring first tilts in the jousts so far in the tourney.

The next pass was even more equivalent. Stafford moved up and hit him in the abdomen, which was returned by Loras, evening up the score to 13-13. This scoring system really got the scores high up there. 1 point for at least hitting the opponent, 2 points for breaking a lance, 3 points for a non grazing hit to shield, 4 for a hit to the head, 5-6 points for abdomen hits depending on where it hits, and of course the square shield hit for 7 points.

The back and forth match up ended up in the seventh pass, which meant that two after the third and what was supposed to be final pass, they had four more. The score was high 31-31. Stafford drained of all energy calmed his horse down. _Alright Orys, let's do this, one more shot, one more opportunity. Let's end this right now._

Stafford gestured Gendry for his finishing jousting lance, he now called it the Fister. The fister had definitely put several men to the fist and onto the ground today.

"Oh the mystery knights going to finish this one off. That lance tells it all!" King Robert boomed for everyone to hear.

"It certainly finished me Robert," He heard his uncle say snidely and almost with a hint of rage in his voice.

Sure, they were different as the multiple versions of the Fister had splintered, but this one will not. He knew in his heart that this one was opportunity. Something he will not get back if he waited for it come back to him. He grasped the Fister in his hands, and charged onto the jousting field one more time. He lowered his lance with Ser Loras Tyrell, but this time, he decided to take a page from his uncle's book of jousting. He shifted himself at the last instant, where Loras looked away and he aimed for the center of his shield. He hit, and Loras struggled to stay on, but stay he did on his saddle. Stafford let out a sigh of relief, and suddenly excitement bubbled in his veins.

"The winner of the joust! Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you, the Enigma of the tourney of the hand, the Knight of Castamere and The Last Black Lion!" an announcer in the from next to the king stated. The stands erupted in cheers. Noble and commoner arose to their feet and hailed their champion. As he smiled beneath his heavy close helmet, he could see the mail-clad bastard of Dorne standing and clapping vigorously beside Margaery Tyrell, smiling with one raised brow and laughing as Odyn Sand whispered something in her ear. Stafford raised his unbroken lance in triumph. He would remember this day for the rest of his life. He had claimed victory when no one else thought he could. Ser Loras met him in center ceremoniously to concede, because he had not been unhorsed, but lost by points.

"Good joust, and well earned victory champion!" Ser Loras told him. Stafford nodded and faced the king, who would reward him with his purse.

"You have done well, but as is customary with mystery knights, who win the championship. Show us, knight. Shout at us and reveal yourself. Let us taste your true identity," Ser Barristan stated for the king.

"Umm...maybe we can have an exception for this," Renly stated to try to get Stafford from unmasking.

"I'm afraid he can't accept his victory in that way. He must show himself," Ser Barristan stated.

"Don't worry, uncle. I'll do as they say," Stafford said without thinking about what he just said from his excitement. Everyone fell silent, including Robert, who was now wide eyed.

"Wait what? D-did he just call you uncle, Renly?" Robert asked quite loudly. Tommen, Joffrey and Myrcella were now wide eyed. Everyone in the crowd knew the only people in court, who had an uncle that was Renly was either Edric Storm, who wasn't there, or Stafford, who was the closest person to the tournament. Stafford dropped off his helm and it clanked on the ground. He smiled as everyone either fought for their breath, or for some fainted.

"Stafford? What in the seven hells?" His father stated.

"Surprised to see me father? When you didn't allow me to compete, Renly and I had to turn to let say _drastic_ measures," Stafford declared matter of factly.

"Remind of you someone, Robert?" Lord Eddard stated with Sansa, who also seemed to be shocked at revelation. His father laughed like thunder.

"Stafford, well. You get the purse as the champion of the tournament. As well as this honor, Lancel present him with the wreath," Ser Barristan stated as Lancel Lannister, one of the people he sometimes spars with shuffled down from the stands of the king to grant him a wreath, "You are now allowed to name the queen of love and beauty as with most major tournament jousting champions." Stafford startled at this stared at the wreath in his hand and looked around. The noblewoman about his age suddenly began to shuffle in their seats, stand up or just stare at Stafford if they were in range. Stafford looked around. He knew of many he could give it to, but he wasn't expecting the decision would be this hard. If Arya were at this damned tournament, it would be easy, just give it to her, and Stafford would have been fine. However, she wasn't here so this presented itself with a predicament.

Stafford looked over to where Ser Loras now stood still on his horse. There was Lady Margaery Tyrell, a good friend who Stafford had known for a while, especially in Highgarden. Stafford thought her beauty was undeniable but something told him that presenting her with the wreath was not agreeable to him. Or more specifically, the helmed Dornishman Odyn Sand who stood sat beside looked over to Miranda Royce next, Stafford known her for a while, but they didn't really talk much after what happened during his fifteenth birthday. No one was ready for that. Then, he looked at a few other highborn women from the Vale, and even the Stormlands. Then, he caught a glimpse of Sansa, who seemed to be staring at him right now. Probably surprised that he even made a surprise appearance as the mystery knight. Stafford began to approach her, with the wreath in hand. Stafford knew this might be the wrong option, but he just couldn't ignore her on this day. She deserved to be recognized for something.

"I dedicate this victory to you, crown jewel of the North. And though I do not have the privilege of being betrothed to you like my dear brother has, just know that you are truly the queen of love and beauty throughout the entire Seven Kingdoms and beyond," Stafford stated as he reached out his hand with wreath of flowers in his hands. Then Stafford noticed one thing about the flowers, as Sansa took the flowers with an unreadable expression on her face. They weren't just normal flowers, they were blue winter roses, pale blue with the color of frost.


	20. AGOT Sansa III

**A/N: With the advent of the twentieth chapter, and the late two month anniversary of the entire project, I cannot stress enough how thankful I am for the support, the love, and the criticisms received to make Stafford's, and the alternate timeline character's journeys better than were intended to be. To show my thankfulness, this chapter is longer than the average chapter, hovering at around 7,000 words. There will also be the response to some of the reviews that I haven't caught up on, and the way YOUR review will be implemented to make everything better for the story. This will be the last Hand's tournament POV, which wraps up the melee in an interesting way. Stafford Baratheon wins the melee, with the help of a lot factors of course, but he pulls off one of the most remarkable melee performances, in reference to Jamie Lannister winning the melee as a fifteen year old in the novels. Also, the melee in this does not include horses, but is entirely on foot. Just to make sure everyone is on the same page. Also, the final time to vote in the poll will be a day before the publishing of Chapter 22, which is the chapter the pairing either goes Sansa/Stafford or Arya/Stafford. If you want your character to be featured as the lead romantic interest please vote, and be recognized. This is one of the writing challenges of the fanfiction to challenge myself, I had to write a plot with a major romance component, with me not knowing what the main pairing would be until the middle of the rising action plot point. Please vote, or your voice will not be heard, as the winner of the poll AUTOMATICALLY becomes the romantic interest.**

 **A Fellow Writer: Like I said, it is part of the challenge, and most if not all story writers know that having a reinforced well established pairing that is already set during the planning stages can help with romances. However, to add challenge, I did not do that, and literally left it to a random factor: public opinion. Thank you for your review**

 **Lily Weasley Potter: Sansa has not been chosen as the main pairing. If you wish to have Arya be the one instead, there is definitely still time, just vote in the poll and have your voice heard. Thank you for your review.**

 **Clove25: I am not beginning a romance with Sansa and Stafford in the traditional sense. Some of the wording may have indicated otherwise, and I should have probably done a better job of explaining that in Stafford's thoughts. Right now, Stafford does not think Sansa is better than Arya if that is vibe you are getting, he isn't THAT interested in both of them actually, and sees both of them as friends. However, the events of the chapter AFTER this will change that, and some of Stafford's hidden feelings for both of them will be forced out. Thank you for review and hope you stick around.**

 **Vulcran: Definitely. Anyway, thanks for the idea, and I am still fully confident the idea will help and not hinder the story. Thank you for your review.**

 **Kizrock: No, Stafford will be paired with one of sister's according to an opinion poll, a day before Chapter 22. The poll will close and lock down the pairing. Thank you for your review.**

 **TMI Fairy: Actually a 10 yard axe throw is a very small distance as World Record distance holders have thrown a tomahawk is about 145 ft. 10 yard is about 33 feet, which is the EFFECTIVE range of the tomahawk in combat. Since it was an axe throwing comp, it is not like combat. (I know a damn axe from the middle ages only had an effective range of 30-40 feet, but pro axe throwers can even make Francisca historical axe throwing enthusiasts can make one 60 to 70 feet). It wasnt supposed to be a 100 yard axe throw, and the miscalculation would have made the throw of 100 PACES, at Stafford's six feet two inch stride, would have made it a 200 ft axe throw which is near impossible. And in actuality, Teenagers, although very rare can outperform perfectly capable adults in athletic competitions in the real world. In gymnastics for example, the gold medalist in the olympics is only 15/16 years of age, and she was competing with people much older than her. Not to mention Roy Jones Jr, was only about 16/17 when he earned his first amateur world title and won a silver gold medal in Seoul. While your points are valid, the events in the story are hardly unrealistic, besides the grave miscalculation or using paces instead of feet. The world record for axe throw bullseye according to my copy of the guinness book of world records is 145 ft, so unless I read it wrong, Stafford's 110 ft bullseye is realistic, as it is a fantasy novel, and we can exaggerate the skill of a fifteen year old. Thank you for the review and criticism**

 **Sorry for the long Author's note. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Sansa_

One moment she watched the new champion of the lists atop his horse trot to the stands, and the next moment she held a wreath of blue roses in her hand. Stafford sat there on his horse, now taking in the gasps, the bouts of laughter, and the footsteps of multiple spectators, noble and lowborn, fleeing the premises. She felt her very heart being drawn and quartered, pulled apart at the seams. _How could something feel so wrong and so right all at once?_ The other part of her saw Stafford as her prince that she had dreamed of. The prince that would win her a joust like in the stories and songs she loved so dearly. A prince that would proclaim her beauty across the seven kingdoms, and a prince that she would ride with into the sunset with. That other part saw a friend, riding there gallantly, risking his very life for her sake. In another she had seen both, the kind, black-haired Baratheon, which she had always imagined her Prince Joffrey to be like. The one she had waited for in Winterfell, and the one she had always hoped he had been. Another part of her felt that Stafford had overextended his kindness, and that it was disgraceful and in terrible taste for someone honorable such as him to do such a thing. His impulsion and recklessness was unsurprising, yet even she failed to realize how deeply he could be consumed in it. No matter what, Prince Stafford Baratheon certainly was more than she bargained for yet.

Sansa stared at the wreath in her hands while her father's blank, icy eyes looked down at her, mouth agape. _What madness has ruined the mind of Stafford Baratheon?_ He rode to her, he proclaimed her as his Queen of Love and Beauty, and handed her the crown, without hesitation or a trace of regret. As she stared long into the wreath, her heart could not help but break for her sister's. Even after all she had done, this madness was a disturbing turn of events.

His father stood up with a jolt, quietly seething with rage. Ser Barristan seemed to turn to him to try to calm him in this state. Sansa had never seen the king in such fury.

"What is the _fucking_ MEANING of this?" King Robert roared, still standing up, glowering at Stafford. Renly quickly stepped up as Stafford turned to his father.

"Now, Robert… No need to get worked up over this. We can explai-" Renly attempted to say smilingly.

" _Worked up?_ Renly, if you know what's good for you, stay the FUCK out of this! You've done enough." Robert turned to his son. "What in the seven hells are you doing giving the fucking wreath to your brother's betrothed?" the king exploded furiously, "I've seen this before alright. Somewhere on the Ruby Ford, that _silver cocksplatting blowhard_ is rolling over in his FUCKING GRAVE!" _Rhaegar Targaryen._ A man, who happened to also be the king's second cousin if Sansa had her history of royal families correctly, was the one he had mentioned. She could only assume from the songs she had listened to growing up that Robert's mind was thrown years back, at that day in Harrenhal.

"See that, father? You all ignored all of my pleas about this disgusting betrayal going on between my betrothed and my own brother, and you turned from me as if I was _going mad_. Look at what manner of devilry happens before you," Joffrey cried out shrilly. Stafford still stood there on his destrier, not even flinching at the accusations being hurled his way. Ser Barristan was now staring at Stafford, Renly shuffled about trying his best to defend his nephew, and Petyr Baelish, who she had just met yesterday in the tournament seemed to be dying of laughter. He was one of the few people, who were not silent during all of this thing. Everyone in the tournament grounds, were so shocked they were just watching the reaction of the King and other retainers like it was some twisted window into all those years before.

"Stafford, fucking answer me! Give me an answer, damn it! Why the fuck would you do such a thing? How could you forsake your own betrothed Arya for her fucking _sister?_ "

"Perhaps, we should force him to talk. Dog, go to Stafford an-"

"AND YOU, I will _not_ hear any more of your words. Stafford will get a chance to explain himself. I am beyond angry Staff, what in the seven hells drove you to do this?"

Stafford stood there blankly, looked at Renly, who shifted his eyes away. Then, for a brief moment, she felt Stafford lock eyes with her. What he thought and felt were a mystery to her, and her reddening face could only turn away from his stare.

"I am not Rhaegar Targaryen, father. Sansa Stark is not some obsession to me like your Lyanna was to Rhaegar. I do not wish nor plan on taking what is rightfully my brother's. I did not dedicate my victory for her because of some forbidden lust I know I cannot have," Stafford spoke calmly as he could. Renly looked around for a moment after Stafford explained himself.

"Then why the hell did you give it to her?" Robert fumed, still not accepting the explanation.

"Father, I cannot lie to you. And in our own family, when directed with a question, you answer with honesty and integrity. Sansa Stark needed to be recognized on this day, she needed to be given an honor she most rightfully deserved, and it would take the wrath of all our gods to deny her this honor. And with my brother, who has been ignoring her for so long, I'd rather be the one to give the honor she deserves, and even if it shames me and makes me and family look broken to many," Stafford stared at his father dignifiedly. Everyone in crowd remained silent. The king calmed down a little bit, and he recovered his composure enough to regain his seat.

"As much as I still don't agree with your actions, it is respectful that you were at least honest with your intent. Ser Barristan, just move the fucking tournament along, and get to the melee. And someone _please get me a damn drink._ " The king grunted as he sat in his seat. Though his eyes saw his prince, he failed to see Stafford.

"Indeed, the problem with that is the mystery knight was also listed to compete in the melee. An even greater one with the sudden _incident_ we have before our very own eyes. I do not believe it is the best idea to put him into the melee," Ser Barristan suggested as the king shifted around in his seat a little. The commons remained a little silent from the events that had occurred. The king was silent for a moment, but he decided to speak.

"Let him do whatever he wants, not like I could stop him from competing anyway," The king grumbled a little. Ser Barristan seemed about ready to object, but he quickly just nodded in agreement. Soon everyone had come back to their places and the events settled. Renly and Stafford went back to their pavilions probably getting ready for the melee. Renly would not be participating to begin with, so he would be watching Stafford fight in the melee.

After a little bit of silence, her father finally spoke to her. Everyone even the people from the North, who had been watching with her Lord father, had been sent to utter silence by what had just happened before their very eyes.

"I can't help but be reminded of what happened at Harrenhal, because of what Prince Stafford Baratheon has done," Her father stated, "My brother was in the exact same position, sitting next to my sister, while she was handed a very similar looking rosary of blue winter roses by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. It was no wonder, Robert looked like he was almost about to snap at his own son."

"I've never seen the King like that ever. Was it my fault?"

"No, never. If anything, it's Stafford's fault. But I can't blame the boy, and while I did not find his actions agreeable by any means, it still makes sense that he would do it. It's more of a surprise than anything,"

"Why?"

"Stafford never really seemed interested in all of this. Yet as he held his wreath out for you, it was as if Rhaegar Targaryen lived again. Brandon always told me those words that Rhaegar said, and how he would never forgive him for insulting his sister's honor," Her father explained to her, "It's just that from what I've seen from the Prince, he would try _something_ reckless as trying to enter a major jousting tourney like this, but even this is a new level of audacity baffles me."

"That prince is truly surprising. I can't help but be a little impressed by it," Her father looked at her after she said this. He let out a sigh.

"How do you feel about what just happened? None of our opinions, the king's, the commons, and even your betrothed's opinions should matter in this situation. The exchange was between you and Prince Stafford."

"I don't know what to feel about what just happened. To be honest, father, one part of me loved it. To have a rider from a joust recognize me in a way I've never been recognized before. The dream I've had ever since the tournament started," Sansa began to explain to her father, "But the other part of me wanted no part of this. I didn't want this honor from Stafford, other knights would have been more preferable to him. Stafford has his obligations to another, and so do I. And it seems wrong." Her father thought for a moment on what she just said. Whatever he could say would be miles better than what had happened in the joust.

"Everyone has trouble with their feelings. There are things that happen in our lives that we naturally cannot understand, how we ourselves even feel about it. But there is somethings we are certain of. Did you feel harmed or wronged by the prince because of this?" Her father asked her. She shook her head, she didn't feel any malice or any wrongful intention when Stafford did his actions. Even her worst feelings about it didn't bring her to that conclusion. But one thing was for certain, their relationship couldn't really stay the same after what Stafford had done. Stafford, probably couldn't see her in the same light anymore, and she probably could see him in the same way anymore. No matter what Stafford's original intentions were, no matter what he had meant to happen in the action that Stafford had taken, It would have been different if he had not been required to name the queen of love and beauty after his victory, and he had just been given the purse and went on his way. However, that was not the case, and in her heart, she knew that everything had changed.

* * *

The melee set up took longer than expected. There were plenty of hushed whispers about the events that occurred. It now seemed Stannis Baratheon, Ser Barristan, and Renly were with Stafford as they prepared for a melee. Ser Barristan was telling Stafford something, while he stated something back. All the while, his stalwart companion Renly Baratheon was with him assisting him. Stannis just looked off in the distance, with an odd expression on his face. Joffrey wouldn't even look at her anymore. Everyone still feeling the impact of Stafford's actions before the melee had begun. The introductions seemed like an eternity as the entire forty man field was introduced into the melee. Well known knights, nobility, priests, and even newly made squires were preparing for the grand melee. This would be the final event in the Hand's Tournament. Everyone was ready for the feast that followed after tournaments. Sansa would never forget what happened at the tournament, all the events and all the strange twists within it.

She recognized many of the faces from the joust, some tired others ready to defeat others in the tournament. Then there were others she did not recognize during the tournament. She heard some of the banter and it seemed that squires also competed in the main tournament. She recognized a green eyed boy, who she now knew as Lancel when Ser Barristan said his name when he presented the rosary of flowers to Stafford. There was also two familiar faces with the squires, the tall greatsword wielding one, and the shorter one, who she remembered his name was Brandon. There were also the usual faces of the Red Priest Thoros of Myr, the charming Beric Dondarrion, and even the Mountain himself in the melee. And far away, stumbling out of a large tent bearing the golden rose of Highgarden, was the Dornish bastard Odyn Sand, his black eyes sparkling as he smiled to himself. She followed his eyes and saw that he had been coldly glaring at Gregor Clegane. _Good gods, what is he up to now?_ There was also other knights, like Robar Royce. And of course there was the now unmasked mystery knight, Stafford Baratheon, with his uncle, who had decided to participate in this melee. Stafford Baratheon and his uncle were discussing what was probably their plan in the melee. She, however, saw the subtle looks Stafford gave her as the pair talked. With two wore a pair of identical sigils in the back, both black crowned stags on a golden field. The two stood there like brothers, until it was time for the melee to begin.

After some short introductions, the people separated to take their places. Sansa wanted the melee just to begin. She had watched the Dornishman stride upon the field, spear and shield in hand, giving one last nod at the Lady of Highgarden before walking to the rest of the competitors. As soon as she saw Stafford look at Renly and his uncle looked back at him. Lord Renly Baratheon looked at the greatsword squire, and Stafford looked at Brandon the reject.

"Begin!" Ser Barristan proclaimed as the melee had officially begun. Forty men went their separate ways and began to put into action each of their gameplans. Some of them grouped up and began to try to eliminate other opponents. Some decided to go solo, or enter the center of the melee grounds, where some of the most feared competitors met. Thoros of Myr, and a few others clashed at the center, forcing some of the lesser known squires to either yield or get knocked unconscious, eliminating them from the melee.

"Thirty-six, I repeat: Thirty-six remain in the melee!" Ser Barristan stated. He then went on to list the names of the people who had been eliminated from the tournament. She did not recognize any of them, so that meant the people of higher renown she recognized in the tournament were still in and fighting in the field. She caught a glimpse of Stafford and Renly, who were now accompanied by the two squires they had been somehow able to form a troop with. They knocked over one of the Freys and started hitting him mercilessly as a group of four, which caused him to yield.

Amid the chaos of the field, Sansa noticed the mail and lamellar-clad Dornishman calmly strolling through the carnage like a battlefield ghost and carefully ambushing unsuspecting foes on the edge of the arena. Odyn Sand was steadily picking off one competitor after another, brutally stunning them with debilitating blows to their chest, eyes, groin, shins, knees and elbows. He feinted a shot to the eye and like the flickering tongue of a viper dove into an upward slash between their legs instead, his foes crumpling in a heap and begging for mercy. He leaped, backflipped, and sidestepped most of their strikes, leaving them spinning into the dirt, prone to a crippling stab to the ribs and extremities that knocked them out cold before they could even scream "yield". At one point, after flooring two axe-wielding mercenaries on his merry stroll, he was cornered by four knights of lesser houses that even he had not heard before. Odyn parried and deflected the flurry of their longswords with his ornate spear, dipping and diving around them in a blinding whirlwind of bronze and crimson silk. Two of them had almost began attacking each other as their swords were redirected to their now-aching groins. He was also fond of kicking dust and dirt up into his enemies' eyes. And after kicking up a foul cloud of dust around him and his four foes, no less than two more knights charged into the cloud, swords raised to help their friends finish the Dornishman off.

As she watched the cloud intently, she realized that after a brief clambering of steel, a few screams, and the sound of bones cracking and splintering, the dust cloud went silent. When it settled a minute later, the arena gasped as Odyn Sand was dusting his shoulders nonchalantly, his spear still between the shoulderblades of one of six eliminated men that laid before his feet. They were utterly mangled, gasping and clawing at their dirt-filled mouths and eyes. Odyn gave them a hard stomp to each of their helmeted heads that left the whole crowd wincing at every crack. As he stepped over their limp bodies coldly, their blood flowed into the arena floor.

Walking away unscathed from his work, Odyn Sand continued his quiet stroll around the arena once more, numerous knights having witnessed his savagery fleeing in his wake. Behind him, Sansa could see multiple stewards rush the bloodied knights on stretchers off the field, the crowd gasping and whispering nervously at the finesse and calm determination of the Dornishman.

She noticed his way of fighting was much different from Stafford's battling style. Stafford focused more on raw power and endurance. All of his attacks were not meant to be deft, they were meant to land and end the match quick. He would charge in and use strong swift blows to make sure no one came for him. This was in contrast to the Dornishman's speed and technique, while not as strong as Stafford's axe blows or not being as tough as he was still managed to dance around his opponents. Ser Barristan yelled some other names, and it seemed the field was trimmed down to twenty-six after he declared a couple more names. Most if not all of those eliminated names were because of the four man troop of Renly, Stafford, Brandon, and other unmemorable squire picking off people who were fleeing the main battle in the center of the tournament grounds.

Suddenly, the tournament got a little more interesting. Renly crossed the Dornishman as he walked to the center, wiping the sweat from his aventail, while Stafford and the rest of the group managed to beat down a group of stragglers. Stafford and the other two squires were successful in eliminating and making yield three more melee participants.

"Twenty-three remain in the melee," Ser Barristan proclaimed, "Ser Heinrich Karstark, Devon of King's Landing, and Ser Raynald Westerling have been eliminated from the competition." Stafford had to take the Westerling down hard. Renly struggled against the Dornishman, who simply danced around him and left him stumbling and gasping at his chest, and Renly could not properly hit him with a sword. Odyn Sand violently struck at Renly's knees and throat between bashes of his shield's rim into the Baratheon's chest.

"That Dornishman is making Renly Baratheon look like a bloody fool. If this is how he plays, I hope I'll never have to witness how he fights," Ned Stark said grimly.

Suddenly, as soon a the Dornishman managed to sweep Renly off his feet, Stafford intervened his brutal finisher with a swift parry with his axe. Renly could be visually seen sighing out in relief, spitting out dirt and dust. The two had a brief exchange, and surprisingly the other three backed down and only seemed to guard what looked like a one on one melee.

"Interesting, Stafford is going to give the Dornishman a chance to fight him one on one. This should be a good watch," her father told her. Stafford assumed his stance, while the Dornishman circles his position. Stafford managed to guard him with his axe, raised high in the air ready to strike at any given moment. The Dornishman was the first to strike, with a swift barrage of blows to Stafford's legs and his elbows, managing to out-maneuver most of Stafford's parries, forcing him back with a limp. Stafford, visibly staggered, managed to catch one of the blows parry it, causing the Dornishman to fall back, but he quickly transitioned into a backwards leap away from Stafford's axe. Stafford charged forward and quickly let out a winded up yet quick downward axe chop, which managed rattle Odyn Sand's nasal helm like a bell. Although rattled, the Dornishman still had ferocity and agility in him, and unexpectedly managed to get his spear through Stafford's now non-face obscuring helmet. It seems he got poked in the eye, because now Stafford seemed to be running away, dazed and tripping with every other step. It looked like Renly, and rest of his little troop was about to intervene, but Stafford held them back with a wave of his hands. The two were basically, although both impaired from the blows they had inflicted to one another. The two battled it out for a bit more, while others were getting eliminated. More minutes passed, and the drawn out battle between the dornishman and the prince seemed to overshadow the elimination. As their blades met amidst the song of steel, sparks flew. There were now only twenty inside the melee. The continuing battle between Stafford and the Dornishman, finally looked like the major stalemate had ended. Stafford seemed to take it to a new level, and he managed to catch the sprinting Sand with the horns of his poleaxe at his ankles. Instead of a direct axe hit from side, it looked like Stafford's objective with his hit was to be a sweeping attack that hit everything in front and to both his sides. The leaping dornishman was caught by a hit that staggered him tremendously. Stafford, then took his opportunity to get in front of his opponent and give him a shove with the shaft of his axe. The force from the shove seemed strong enough to ground the dornishman. Once grounded, Stafford lightly grazed him across the abdomen with a draw cut, right where he remembered his wounds being its worst.

Fighting back with the fury of a cornered beast, Odyn Sand ducked and rolled about on the ground, disorienting Stafford with the dust and mud he had kicked up from the ground. The blow had done little to halt his vigor, his mail hauberk and lamellar cushioning the axe's strike. With a roar, he managed to get on his knee and parry multiple strikes that left Stafford open. But with a sharp halt in his moving, grabbing his abdomen, he stumbled back, unable to land a blow. The Prince recovered his stance, and regained his focus on Odyn Sand.

"That Dornishman better yield now, if Stafford lands that blow, he could kill him," Her father told her.

"He's killed someone in a tournament before. And Odyn Sand is tough bastard. But after the wounds he has sustained, I fear even his hauberk may not be enough." Lord Baelish whispered.

Before Stafford can land a finishing blow on the lurching Dornishman, roaring in pain, someone ran right into Stafford and disarming his axe mid swing. His troop sprung into action against the incoming threat. The Dornishman managed to recover his balance and dropped into a low stance. Renly, immediately stood in front of the new threat. It was the Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane, who had decided to participate in the melee. Renly, tried his hardest to challenge the monstrous man. When Renly Baratheon, who was about two inches taller than Stafford, gets dwarfed by someone, that person was more than monstrous. Renly tried attacking Gregor, but he was unable to do anything. Renly was thrown down to the dirt, and then two of the squires helped Stafford up to his feet. Stafford managed to recover his axe. With no other thinking, Stafford charged at Gregor and surprisingly parried the blow from his greatsword away once again saving Renly from elimination.

"That prince sure doesn't know the feeling of fear," Her father told her.

"It seems nothing seems to faze him, even a giant,"

"I've heard enough of your little _feelings about my brother_. Haven't you done enough you little promiscuous little s-" Joffrey suddenly snapped and then got interrupted by her father.

"Finish that sentence, boy and not even your father can save you," Her father defended her. Joffrey went silent. When Sansa finally focused herself back to the action, Stafford and Renly had started an all out brawl inadvertently as the melee raging in the center had moved to the center. From what Sansa saw, Stafford and Renly were holding off eight knights together, as their troop began to collapse. Brandon was knocked unconscious, and eliminated. The taller squire encountered Gregor Clegane, and before he even engaged, he just yielded. It did nothing to halt the momentum of Gregor's sword, which struck the boy so hard that he flew into the dirt, twitching upon the ground. The team that looked so dominant defeating stragglers, had now been reduced to two, holding off eight more people. The only person, who was not participating in the all out brawl, was Odyn Sand, who regained his bearings after the encounter with Stafford. Renly and Stafford never had an instinct to back down. The two had fluid teamwork as they were both able to assist one another when needed. The fought unselfishly literally setting the table for one another as they both eliminated knights, even though they were outnumbered. Stafford and Renly looked like they both were feeling the length of the melee, both looking like their blows were beginning to slow. At one point, they were both on the full defense just deflecting blows, and grounding opponents, to what get what her father referred to as 'spacing'.

It's been close to two hours since the melee began. Stafford and Renly managed to eliminate some more people, in a surprisingly impressive showing. Like a well groomed horse, they were literally able to run through their competition. Stafford and Renly managed to battle off the others, but then with a fury, Gregor Clegane stood in between a now exhausted, Stafford and Renly. In an act of selflessness, Renly stood in front of Stafford as Gregor winded up a sword hit, that would have blindsided the young prince. However, the force caused Renly to go on his knees. Then, Stafford stood in before, Renly could get seriously hurt, and parry the blow. Stafford breathed heavily, probably losing almost all the stamina he had after eliminating eight competitors, out of the twenty that had remained according to Ser Barristan's announcements.

But before Gregor could strike down the currently rattled Stafford, Sansa saw the glint of a spearpoint spark across the Mountain's great helm, the giant reeling from the blow. Odyn Sand had unbalanced the Mountain with a lightning charge and a deep roar. Knocked to the ground about seven feet away, the Mountain struggled to rise. She saw Odyn Sand calmly stride to giant, a light nod to the prince as he passed him by. Stafford was looking onward while trying to help his uncle off the floor. As the Viper's mail hauberk clinked softly, she and the noble stands beside her stirred from their quiet, filled with shocked gasps and cheers. Only a few seats away from her, Sansa could see Ser Loras Tyrell's sister Margaery letting out a sigh of relief.

As his feet thudded upon the fallen giant, the Mountain began to stir and rubbed his head, holding himself up with a greatsword he held in one hand. Upon standing up, Odyn strafed away from Gregor by about another two feet, his shield raised up and his spear poised for a strike. As Gregor faced the Dornishman, she could see Odyn motioning up and down the Mountain with his readied spear. "LOOK AT YOU," Odyn spat contemptuously, his voice seething with hatred. "YOU _LOOK LIKE_ _ **A BITCH.**_ " The whole crowd erupted into raucous laughter. Even her father could not stifle a laugh that followed the rest of the royal family. The King sat there, incredulous, a smile spreading across his face. She hadn't seen Joffrey laugh this hard in a while. On the other side of the field, she could see half the other knights halt their fighting as they laughed wildly at the bastard's words.

"SHUT UP. SHUT UP!" Ser Gregor Clegane looked all around the arena, and turned back to Odyn. "FUCK **YOU!** " The Mountain bellowed as he barreled into a charge, his feet kicking up a clouds of dust. He raised his greatsword in one hand and swept it across the cloud Odyn stood in. But expecting the hit to connect, he was befuddled by his fall into the empty dust, this time recovering from his prone stance a lot faster. "What the-ARRGGHHH!" His voice was drowned out by his own screams, Odyn Sand following his spin away from Gregor's strike with a slash across the back of his knee. Feinting for a strike to his groin, Odyn instead strafed and ran away away, parrying away Gregor's sword as his spear violently rattled his greathelm.

There they stood for a long while, a good twenty feet away from one another. After a short silence amidst the storm of swords, the battle raging on around them, Odyn Sand placed jauntily to the giant who towered over him. His carved spear glinted in the sun, his lamellar armor shining brilliantly. He stopped only ten feet away from the massive brute. Though his leg was wounded, and his pride probably suffering a little from the hits he had taken from the Dornishman, the Mountain battled back with a vengeance. They clambered and clashed in their armor, sword upon spear, haft upon blade. She noticed that Odyn had gotten a little careless with his attacks and his bloodlust got the best of him, as Odyn was subtly driven back by Gregor, the Dornishman leaping and spinning around him with no less spring in his step, but with far less effective evasion of the Mountain's blows. He was caught in the moment, and the rage within him burned like wildfire. She noticed Stafford, and Renly were now dealing with Beric Dondarrion, and other favorites such as Lothor Brune and Lord Bryce Caron. The fighting turned into an all out stalemate for longer than it should have been.

"There are only ten men left in the melee! Lord Beric Dondarrion, Lothor Brune, Lord Bryce Caron, Ser Gregor Clegane, Thoros of Myr, Odyn Sand of Sunspear, Prince Stafford Baratheon, Lord Renly Baratheon, Lord Jason Mallister, and Steffon Frey!" Ser Barristan declared.

The men reset in an honorable parley, and then less than moments later clashed ensued in the middle of all the tournament grounds. She noticed Renly and Stafford enter the fray, almost fearless of what they were facing. Thoros of Myr had his sword lit on fire, which most of the melee participants probably more than just noticed. Renly Baratheon and Stafford Baratheon cut off most of the people as they entered into the fray. Stafford moved up and confronted Lothor Brune. The conflict between Stafford and Lothor Brune, lasted only mere minutes, as Stafford in an impressive show of strength and power managed to ground and forced Lothor to submit to him. Stafford quickly turned his attention to Bryce Caron, who had noticed this and approached him from the back. Stafford managed to parry his blows and land debilitating strikes to him, forcing an able bodied Bryce Caron back.

"Lord Jason Mallister, Lothor Brune, have been eliminated! Only eight remain in the melee!" Stafford and Renly, suddenly were able to make Bryce Caron fall unconscious after what looked like a clothes line maneuver from both a blunted axe and a sword, "Bryce Caron has been eliminated!"

"Stafford and Renly, prove that teamwork can definitely get you far into a melee," Her father declared. Then everyone in the fighting pit, looked towards an ongoing conflict that interested everyone. The Dornish bastard had attacked Ser Gregor Clegane had been at it in the center for a while. Sansa hadn't paid attention much to it, because she was focused on Stafford and Renly's portion of the tournament. However, this did not stop Stafford and Renly from mercilessly beating down Steffon Frey, who seemed to have the courage to take a beating before surrendering himself to the Baratheons.

"Steffon Frey has been eliminated from the melee, only six remain," Ser Barristan declared with much more than a hint of relief in his voice. Everyone in the audience including Sansa had just experienced a long melee, she estimated about two and a half hours now.

The two now bloodied continued to trade blows, strong technique and finesse giving away to wild and savage strikes. Gregor smashed and hammered through Odyn's parries, but was being constantly outmaneuvered by the spearman's agility. For all that he had taken, the bastard managed to fight toe-to-toe, in a battle for the ages.

As Stafford and the rest of the remaining small pool of combatants, including Thoros of Myr began to catch their breath. Beric Dondarrion, Stafford, and Renly were even exchanging conversation. The Dornishman looked like he had done another sidestep around Gregor's sword as the drawn out fight between the two continued, but the Mountain suddenly begun laughing. His low voice boomed from his helm like the sound of scraping metal and thunder.

" **Pathetic.** " Instead of dodging, Gregor Clegane monstrously grabbed the bastard by his throat and hesdbutted him. Dropping his spear and shield, clawing at his neck, the whole crowd began gasping as Gregor held him high above his head. "Look at you. _YOU LOOK. LIKE. A_ _ **BITCH."**_ And all at once, the stands broke out into a shocked scream as he was thrown back about ten feet away, rending the earth as he crashed into the dirt, to the gasps of most of the crowd. As he laid on the ground, a sudden cry rang out from only a few seats away. Sansa turned to her left and saw Margaery Tyrell wailing anguishedly in terror, her brother Loras straining to hold her back.

"Odyn Sand, the Bastard of Sunspear, has been eliminated! Wait a minute, what is going _on?_ " The Mountain wasn't done yet. He continued his thundering laugh,greatsword laid upon his shoulder. As he reached the helpless Odyn Sand, he raised his greatsword. The crowds were begging and pleading. She turned to Margaery again, eyes wide and mouth agape. Sansa heard screams for mercy, and even a septon reminding himself of the funeral rites if they became necessary. However, a blur came right in front of them at just the right moment, and suddenly, to the surprise of everyone, Beric Dondarrion was also grounded, parrying Gregor's blade before it struck the Bastard of Sunspear, yelling out yield before Gregor could do anything to finish him or Odyn off. As the two laid on the ground, Sansa could see Beric and Odyn exchanging faint nods of thanks. Gregor Clegane had to respect the yield, lest he might be stripped of his knighthood. He instead turned to face the remaining field of three, who were now ready for a final face off. Renly and Stafford went full force against Gregor Clegane, and Thoros of Myr looked like he would wait to see, who would face him when the dust settled. Stafford and Renly both fought the mountain, but with Stafford outmatched in strength, and Renly outmatched overall in everything but speed, Ser Gregor gained ground. The Mountain managed to fight them both back and at once, with Renly grounded. Stafford managed to hold his own against the monstrous Gregor Clegane, and Sansa was even more surprised in the vigor, Stafford managed to fight back with. He looked like he was going to collapse at any moment. And sure enough he did, after a good blow to the mid section, Stafford was unable to gain footing and was grounded.

Without much of surprise, Renly Baratheon managed to step in front taking blow for his nephew, and he was once more grounded, but this time more defenseless. Renly took more blows than Sansa could imagine, she wanted the mountain to stop hitting him. Renly didn't want to yield for some reason.

"Gregor's just made the worst mistake in the melee," Her father told her.

"Why?" Sansa asked him.

"Why don't you ask your precious Prince Stafford? Maybe he woul-" Joffrey tried to start, but then her father had already gone to him and slapped him down a notch.

"I'm telling mother!"

"Quiet boy!" Robert proclaimed, and then the entire crowd began to lose their breath literally. Sansa turned, and saw Stafford's axe come full force across the Mountain's temple, right where his helmet did not protect him. The Mountain made contact with the axe, and he collapsed into the dirt with a thud. He had went limp, unconscious.

"Ser Gregor Clegane has been eliminated! Three remain!" Ser Barristan declared. Stafford offered a hand to his uncle, who didn't take it this time.

"I've had enough of this melee, I'm done, go take this one, Stafford, third is better than any place I could've imagined. I YIELD!"

"Renly Baratheon has been eliminated, final two competitors," Thoros of Myr, got out of his relaxed state. Stafford Baratheon, looked like tried to show that he wasn't tired, and instead of leaning on his poleaxe, he decided to stand tall when he faced his final opponent. Thoros of Myr faced up against him, and they both engaged in what looked like a two way dance of fury. The green fire's embers sparked, as Stafford of house Baratheon parried each blow and returned the favor with his own blocks. Stafford and Thoros fought in what looked like a drawn out dance, with Thoros moving elegantly, and Stafford roughly, but fluidly at the same time. It seemed like their battle lasted a lifetime, until suddenly, the priest managed to disarm Stafford. Stafford disarmed now had one last coup de grace, as he lunged forward and tackled Thoros. The sheer power and surprise knocked him down flaming sword knocked down. Stafford was grazed by the greenfire in the corner of his forehead, but Sansa noticed he didn't seem to mind. Stafford began to use his gauntlets to punch the red priest in the face, and eventually the priest yielded.

"Thoros of Myr yields, Prince Stafford of House Baratheon is the victor!"

Stafford arose doing the unthinkable, being the second person his age, to win a melee like this. He became one of the only warriors to ever win a Joust and a Melee in the same tournament. Bloodied, burned and bruised Stafford raised his hand in victory. The entire crowd seemed behind him, and at that moment Sansa did not see Stafford of House Baratheon anymore. She saw a new person, someone she had never seen before. And her heart tried to reach for him, but something else held her heart back.


	21. AGOT Arya IV

**A/N: Alright this is another long chapter and it will be in Arya's POV. In short, this might contain tons of cliche, as I am a very inexperienced romance writer. There will also be some comedy tropes used and even I feel that some of them may be cringeworthy, but I did write this within two days, and literally just wrote was on my twisted mind that day. In my opinion it is my worst chapter, so be aware. So, basically, I made Stafford kiss both of them in this chapter, to try to appease both sides and to set up where he will have to choose between the two of them in the next chapter. I will address reviews in the next chapter, and leave you guys to it. Please give me advice and cristicisms on my** _ **try**_ **very big emphasis on try in adding the romance. Thank you all for the support and remember if you want to support YOUR choice for the pairing, please vote on the poll that closes two days before EITHER CHAPTER 22 or 23**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Arya_

Arya didn't go to final day of the tournament, instead she was with her dancing master, Syrio perfecting her technique with the sword. It was hard work, and it was definitely not easy, but the effort and the increase in her proficiency with a sword was definitely worth the pain. While all the other girls went off to see their knights in shining armor out in the Hand's tournament, Arya kept to herself in order to further refine her technique with the blade. She had better things to do than watch something she didn't even enjoy and found impractical. It was just basically a bunch of grown men, and boys playing a game of war, which her father even told her was not something that can or should be brought into light-hearted context. From what she heard from some other people, Stafford didn't even go to it, and he had been talking about the tournament for a while. She even heard him grumble about having to sit it out when they were exploring the dungeons once, and one time while they were sparing in an empty training ground early in the morning. Those early morning training sessions were perhaps the most favorite events that happened while she was at King's Landing,

Even with her new skills, she had not found a way to beat Stafford like she had promised him many times before. Stafford seemed to have been practicing his poleaxe for a long while, and she wasn't that surprised when she could not out do him in much. Stafford Baratheon, in part was one of the most dedicated she could find in the art of combat. He practiced daily to nothing short of perfection, rarely taking any rests to fortify his stamina, and even with his lack of discipline in most of actions apart from practice, he took his training more seriously than most. Every time he would meet her at the end of most days, she could tell that he had worked hard all throughout the day. He was not someone who spent time idle, and if there were to be only one man of action, she felt it would be none other than Prince Stafford himself. It appears sickness had overcome Stafford, as she did not even see him at the tournament, and instead spent his entire day in his room, except for the one time she saw him outside the room with his uncle Renly, who he seemed to spend a lot of time with. She swore he might have spent more time with his uncle than his mother or father. They didn't act like the normal uncle-nephew relationship either. Stafford and Renly acted much like Robb and Jon did with each other during Jon's time in Winterfell. They were as close as brothers, and they both clearly had a profound respect for one another, but both of them seemed to be more interested in jesting at one another instead of showing the same relationship with Stannis.

Eventually, however she was called down to the feast with the royal family, where she would have to interact with more people she seemed to loathe more than enjoy the company of. Everyone was in high spirits, except for some reason Stafford and his father the king, who still sat next to each other seemed to be less lively with one another. Stafford looked like he had been through a lot, bruised, and looked a lot more exhausted than usual. Was he that sick or did something happen in the tournament that she had not been made aware of at all? It might have been that, but the king looked at Stafford differently today, and she wasn't sure why.

She was brought down to the feast by her father's guard captain Jory Cassel. Sansa seemed to be a little nervous too, and she kept on glancing at Stafford and Joffrey for some reason. Joffrey seemed to be the only one there, but his mother, other uncle that wasn't Renly, and other family members from the Lannister side seemed to be missing from the feast.

"The tournament was magnificent," she sighed. "You should have come. How was your dancing?"

"I'm sore all over," Arya reported happily, proudly displaying a huge purple bruise on her leg. Sansa seemed to be

"You must be a terrible dancer," Sansa said doubtfully. Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the

"Dance of the Dragons,"

Her father inspected the bruise himself. "I hope Forel is not being too hard on you," he said.

Arya stood on one leg. She was getting much better at that of late. "Syrio says that every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better." Her father frowned. The man Syrio Forel had come with an excellent reputation, and his flamboyant Braavosi style was well suited to Arya's slender blade, yet still, a few days ago, she had been wandering around with a swatch of black silk tied over her eyes. Syrio was teaching her to see with her ears and her nose and her skin, she told him. Before that, he had her doing spins and back flips. "Arya, are you certain you want to persist in this?"

She nodded. "Tomorrow we're going to catch cats."

"Cats." Ned sighed. "Perhaps it was a mistake to hire this Braavosi. If you like, I will ask Jory to take over your lessons. Or I might have a quiet word with Ser Barristan. He was the finest sword in the Seven Kingdoms in his youth." Stafford Baratheon had already trained with Ser Barristan, according to Stafford, he taught him every move with the axe, even some swordsmanship to him. Stafford had a great respect for Ser Barristan, and Stafford even told him that all he was one of the best teachers he knew. Even when Stafford had grown better than his master with an axe, Ser Barristan continued to teach him about fighting and all he knew about it. While, Ser Barristan and Stafford seemed like they had two completely different styles of fighting, Arya definitely saw major elements of Ser Barristan the Bold fighting style if you watched Stafford. Even when Ser Barristan had fought Stafford in the Ruby ford that one fateful day in the Trident, she saw two identical warriors clashing it out, and even then Ser Barristan knew how to fight Stafford off. However, Arya didn't want to be fight like Stafford. She fights hard and lives hard her own way.

"I don't want them," Arya said. "I want Syrio."

"As you wish," he said. "Try to be careful." Then before Arya could respond, something erupted in the Baratheon side of the table. And sure enough, Stafford and Joffrey were at it again, but this time, it seemed like it was going on in a much larger scale than she had imagined.

"When you go up to my betrothed and hand her a rose proclaiming that she is the true queen of love and beauty, that definitely implies that you are interested in her. And with the way she has been acting and the way that she talks about you almost without end-" Joffrey began to say. Arya didn't know what to think of this statement by Joffrey. It seemed he was filled with hot air, and Stafford seemed to be tired to try to deal with this. Their mother wasn't here to stop it, and the king seemed to be too drained of energy to deal with it, as he just down another cup of whatever he was drinking as the argument gained heat.

"Maybe if you had given her the treatment that she deserves, and not the neglect that she is receiving, I might have not even considered giving it to her. I would have given the damn thing to Arya if she were there, but she wasn't so what in the seven hells was I supposed to do?" Stafford roared, slurring his speech. The Prince seemed to be under the influence of the drinks that he had consumed. For a boy fifteen, he had the appetite for drink like his father did.

"You still had no right to do that! And you haven't denied having relations with my betrothed so I'm going to have to assume that it is true!"

"You're a thick one aren't you? How about I spell this out for you since you don't even seem to get one thing I am saying. I did NOT have sexual relations with your betrothed, Sansa Stark. I never told anybody to lie. Not a single time. Never. These allegations are false, and if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my life without you trying to mention this,"

"The Seven don't like it when people deny things that are true-" Joffrey paused and winced. Everyone had now been locked on them, her sister, who seemed to be the object of discussion. Stafford then raised a fist like he was about to punch Joffrey, but stopped just short of contact, his fist slumping to his side limply. Arya really wanted him to connect, it would have been funny.

"You're not worth my damn time anymore. She doesn't mean anything to me, and if you had done your job, I probably wouldn't have talked to her," Stafford spat venomously, downing another glass. It was at this moment, Sansa looked straight at Stafford, and Stafford looked at her. Joffrey still whimpering a bit after almost getting punched again, looked at them.

"Excuse me a moment," Sansa said coldly, getting up from her seat wandering off. Stafford dropped his cup and went after her, almost tripping and lurching around the table and walls as he walked. Joffrey was now rambling at how this was further proof of their relationship.

"That's Stafford's tenth glass of Dornish Strongwine, he must not be acting like himself anyway. Normally, Stafford would have probably knocked his brother's teeth in even with the circumstances. I guess he just decided against it now," Arya heard Renly say to Ser Barristan, who seemed to be getting up to collect Stafford and Sansa, "Just give the two a moment." Arya, wondering where the two were going, suddenly got up from the table and her father tried to get her, but someone seemed to have stopped him.

"Let them work their own problems out, they'll be back eventually, Lord Stark. Joffrey, since you seem to be so worried about your betrothed and her _behaviors_ around your brother, why don't you go with them?" Arya heard Renly say, as she looked back and saw her father just stand there, almost painfully. She even saw Joffrey just sit back in the table more than embarrassed and defeated and went back to looking at the meals that he was given.

Arya managed to follow, Sansa and Stafford to an empty almost deserted part of the feasting grounds. They were the preparation tents, which seem to have not been taken down by the servants. Arya wondered why the people didn't already take care of this. Sansa just sat in one of the benches outside of the preparation tent, before she even noticed Stafford. She just stood there, while Arya hid behind some odd crates laying about. Knowing Stafford, who was an observant person when he wanted to be, but with the amount of summerwine he had consumed, he couldn't have been able to have his normal perception skills. Once, Sansa noticed Stafford clearly took notice of her.

"What do you want? Can't you find Arya and go talk to her? Isn't that what you said you wanted? You clearly told everyone in the court that what you did today was just something to make me feel better. Well I'm sorry to tell you, that's not what I want," Sansa shakily snapped, desolation in her voice. Sansa was in the midst of having a crisis, and Stafford still stood there with an expression she had never seen before. Stafford, was usually jesting and smiling, not having this odd new face Arya had now seen before her. For a moment, she saw the perpetually dour Stannis Baratheon, and it was something that she had never quite seen before. His face when it wasn't smiling and had a certain sternness to it, had an uncanny resemblance to Stannis Baratheon, except much younger.

"Look I-"

"Is what you are about to say just meant to make me feel better? Am I someone to take pity on like you told everyone? I can assure you, if that's how you feel, and everything you had said to me during all times we had talked were not even things you meant…" Sansa interrupted him and she immediately stood up. She wasn't nearly tall enough to compare to Stafford. She had to look up to try at least try to get him face to face.

"If memory serves me correct, when I was talking to you, you seemed to be living in some fairy tale, that your prince would come save you. Open your eyes, Sansa, that shit just doesn't happen,"

"Fine, you bastard, whatever you say. Just so you know, I wish you hadn't given me anything. I wish you had never even spent time with me, in fact now that you mentioned it, I hate you. Fuck off." Sansa just pushed the much larger Stafford away, and began to walk away. Stafford before she could get far, ran up and grabbed her by the arm.

"Alright, can we forget the things that I said, I didn't really mean to call you that or make you feel like that. I'm trying to create something that's not there, A spark I saw in you during the tournament. And something about what Joffrey said, unsettled me. And maybe…"

"Maybe? What the fu-" She was cut off. And Arya with all her being could not even comprehend what she had witnessed next. Stafford lunged forward, and embraced her sister, and began to furiously kiss her. Sansa's eyes went wide, and before long, she ceased trying to push him off or resist him stroking her supple curves and long legs beneath her gown. In fact, her own hands were soon guiding Stafford's to where they both wanted them, locked in a carnal embrace. Even as she knelt behind a crate, Arya could see Stafford's calloused hands undoing the lace in Sansa's dress, trying to tear it off savagely. All the while, Sansa was slipping off Stafford's jacket, and holding herself even closer to his broad, muscled chest. Arya had seen enough, but before she could reveal herself from her position, someone in the distance apparently did the job for her.

"I knew it! I finally have proof! I can't believe it. You girl, you saw it too, right?" Stafford immediately pulled away, and Sansa, realizing what she had done, let out a shriek and looked towards Joffrey.

"I believe… I just made a terrible mistake…" Stafford muttered in slurred voice. Joffrey seemed to be seething with rage. But then Joffrey got a smile on his face, that Arya did not like the look of that at all.

"You think you can just go around, disrespect our father, defile **my** betrothed, and grab her _ass?_ Lets see how you like THIS, Stafford," Joffrey declared. Joffrey went over to where he saw Arya. Arya quickly got up, and watched him warily.

"My brother, w-what are you doing?" Stafford quietly mumbled in genuine surprise, his stern face turning pitiful and lost, falling to the ground and crawling to his brother blindly. Despite how betrayed she felt by Stafford, and her sister for what had just occurred before their very eyes, she was wondering what Joffrey what was doing.

"Giving you taste of your own medicine," Joffrey proclaimed, forcefully grabbing Arya, which she really had not time to do anything, because of the surprise. And soon, if things did not get even weirder, Joffrey held her close and locked her into a wild kiss, only tightening his embrace as Arya struggled to break free. Before she can react, something else happened.

"Hey, what's all commotion?" Everyone turned to see Ser Barristan, in a coat of enameled white scales over mail, standing there. "By the Seven, WHAT THE **FUCK** ARE YOU DOING, _JOFFREY!_?" Arya managed to push Joffrey off, punching him in the stomach over and over in a black rage. It was all that she had left. Joffrey taking punches to the gut causing him to reel backwards in pain. Just before things got even worse, the king, his brother, and her father managed to get to where they were. Stafford, clearly very distraught about the turn of events, and he had faced many things and many turn of events. Jory had to hold her back from giving Joffrey more punches to his gut. The way he decided to deal with the situation between Stafford and Sansa was one of the worst possible ways someone could take that. The thing that they did was enraging no doubt, and for once in her life, Arya at least understood how Joffrey could feel after that. Arya could not believe it either and part of her was enraged at what Stafford had done, even if he was clearly not feeling like himself. Sansa just stood there, looking down at the ground, while Stafford remained on his knees and hands on the ground trying to stabilize himself. He soon after let out a stream of putrid vomit that stank terribly, staining his coat and covering the ground.

"What happened? We came as soon as Ser Barristan started screaming." Her father said quietly.

"Although Lord Renly told me that they could handle it themselves, it seems when I went to investigate the noises in this area, to make sure the King and both his children were secure. After Prince Joffrey ran off to catch up to these people," Ser Barristan began to explain. "Then, to my great surprise I arrived to see Prince Joffrey, how should I put it, ah yes, inappropriate interactions. Afterwards, everyone arrived in time to see Arya shove Joffrey off, and began to assault him. Luckily, it didn't get worse." Her father seemed like his inner fire had been lit, and approached Joffrey with a cool, almost deadly look on his face. Joffrey began to back away slowly.

"I'm not the one to blame here? I had a perfectly good reaso-" He was interrupted before he could finish with a swift punch in the face. Arya didn't think her father would do that. He had never done something so drastic in his life. Her father literally just punched the heir to the crown of Westeros in the face, much like how Stafford had done in the Winterfell Great Hall, the fateful day Arya had met the Baratheon prince. Sansa and Stafford seemed to remain silent through all of this, and Arya who was still being restrained by Jory Cassel.

"You dare do that to my own _daughter_. I can't believe someone that Robert raised would act in such a disgraceful way. How dare you treat my daughter in such a disgusting matter!"

"You dare hit me? Don't you know who I am," He received another hit this time to the stomach. Ser Barristan looked like he was about to intervene in the chaos, and Stafford seemed ready to step up for his own brother.

"Robert, aren't you going to do something about this, your friend Lord Stark seems to be striking your son," Renly stated, but no response came to Robert. He just stood there with a look of stunned silence in his face.

"Your lack of cooperation has been _noted, boy_. I am starting doubt the decency of the arrangement you have with my daughter, Sansa," Lord Stark stated.

"Wait, Lord Stark, let's not get hasty, let the boy explain what why he even did it. It might not be the best explanation, but he is just a boy, he makes mistakes as well," Ser Barristan managed to suggest before things got anymore heated and escalated than before.

"I'm sure your _daughter_ would love for the engagement to get called off. Stafford and her seemed to be too fond of each other already. I caught him and her in the middle of a certain manner of inappropriate actions much like how Ser Barristan managed to," Joffrey explained.

"Do you have evidence or any sort of witness to these events?" Ser Barristan stated before Arya's father could even respond to Joffrey with a piece of his own mind.

"The girl, Stafford's betrothed! She saw it too!" Joffrey proclaimed pointing his finger at Arya while doing so.

"Jory, why don't you let Arya go so she could speak," Her father commanded. Jory managed to let her go, but made sure he was ready to grab and catch her in case she wanted to run away. Good choice by Jory, if he had not, she probably would just run away. She wanted to run as far away from everyone as possible.

"I was hiding behind the crates when I followed Sansa and Stafford," Arya began with Joffrey looking intently at her while talking. Everyone did, including Stafford and Sansa. Sansa looked like she was going to interrupt her. She remembered Sansa being in this position before with her betrothed Joffrey. It seemed like Sansa, Arya, Joffrey, and Stafford had gotten caught up in another incident. Much like the trident something had happened and someone got the chance to speak. But unlike the trident, Arya held the chance to speak tell the full truth and what happened.

Arya finally realized how hard it was for Sansa to choose between either the right thing to do or protecting someone she thought she cared about and loved. If Arya told the whole truth, Stafford would probably be in much more trouble than he wanted to be. Stafford would be in a bad position and she would have inflicted it. If she didn't, Stafford would be protected and so would Sansa, and only Joffrey would be made out like he was inventing things, although this time ironically, he wasn't actually lying about the events that occurred. A part of her really wanted to see Stafford suffer for what he had done to her. Arya had done nothing but be Stafford's friend and be by his side. She felt betrayed that he could not honor even one commitment to her, even if she didn't care for marriage, "But I couldn't get a good look of what the two were doing, It all happened so quickly, I didn't have a chance to see clearly."

Part of her died when she said that. She had just done the same thing Sansa had done to protect Joffrey during the Trident. And for the first time in her life, she understood why Sansa had done it. But, after all that happened, she felt like she played a part in it as well. She didn't seem content in already being seen as the better of the two by mostly everyone, but now by one of her closest friends, and companions, Stafford Baratheon. It wasn't like she wanted Stafford in that light, but she wondered herself what she would have done if Stafford had done what he had done to Sansa to her. She was two years younger, but she didn't really think she could pull him off like she did to Joffrey. She had never thought about these things before, but now she suddenly did with Stafford around.

"You little…" Joffrey managed to whimper.

"Hold, brother," Stafford was dragged up on his feet from the ground by Renly, who had somehow got to him without anyone noticing. "There's no need to get upset. It is my duty and it is part of my honor to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. So yes, I lost control and I did do what Joffrey described. I won't lie to anyone."

"Stafford, I know it's none of my business, but what in the Seven hells cause you do that?" His uncle Renly asked, incredulous and scowling. Everyone looked at him.

"Let me just take something to clear my head," Stafford stated drawing a small vial of something from his shirt. Renly's eyes opened wide when he saw it, but before he could snatch it away from Stafford, Stafford had already downed the vial.

Without warning, Stafford immediately fell down face first on the ground, soaked in his puke. After a few moments, Stafford began to snore loudly in a puddle of his own vomit, drenching his attire in the food he ate, wine he drank, and bile from the depths of his throat. He reeked of puke, and Sansa had to turn away, holding in her instinct to wretch at the horrible stench.

"Great, he's asleep. What was in that vial?" Arya's father demanded with a voice that cut like cold steel.

"I think I accidentally gave him one of sleeping potions my herbalists brewed. It was supposed to be a bruise to mitigate some of the drowsiness from drinking too much. Gave him the wrong one, I guess," Renly stated.

"Renly, if you and Stafford had not tried such brilliant schemes and concoctions, Stafford, probably wouldn't be in the situations he is in. That's besides the point however, what should we do now, my king. A lot has happened during this day that needs to be discussed," Ser Barristan stated.

"I agree, Robert, something does need to be done about this," Her father replied, steely gaze shifting from Arya, to the teary-eyed Sansa, Joffrey, and his brother. The king had been standing there in stunned silence with what he had just heard, and just sighed.

"I think I had a little too much to drink, tonight. I think everyone just needs rest. Someone get Staff back to the Red Keep, he's been through a lot and honestly even though my mind and heart want so desperately to discipline him for his actions, maybe it's best to give everyone a little time. He could definitely explain himself better," the King quietly and grimly commanded.

"I agree with my brother for once, let's all just call it a day, and forget this ever happened," Arya just remembered her father guide her away from the scene, still stunned at the situation, and Renly getting a few servants to Stafford to get him out and clean him up. Stafford was fast asleep. Arya was put to bed after traveling from the grounds back to the Tower of the Hand. She wondered what could have caused Stafford to behave that way, Stafford had shown no hints he even wanted to do anything of that sort. It came out of nowhere, and some parts of his alternate self had shown itself. He was intoxicated, but still acting impulsive like that might have caused some of Stafford's shortcomings.

It had been two days since the incident, but Stafford seemed to have spent all those days in his room. She kept with her normal life, trying to forget what had happened just days prior. For some reason, she couldn't even make eye contact with her sister, and neither can she. There seemed to be a rift larger than there had been before, and what seemed temporarily fixed when everyone was in high spirits after the tournament, seemed to be crumbling down now. Before she decided to chase cats for the day, she decided to stop by Stafford's room, to see if he was finally up. She wanted, no she needed an explanation for what happened, and he was the only one, who can explain what had happened. Joffrey certainly didn't want to, in fact he seemed indifferent to her existence now, after the incident. A lot has happened since then even, and yesterday even worse. While chasing cats, she had overheard a few men, and they were talking about killing her father. No one would believe her, even after Tommen and Myrcella managed to discover her. She saw the two unidentified men, Stafford, who knew more people in King's Landing than she did could also know something. Going to Stafford would literally take out two birds with one stone.

She got to Stafford's room and it was open, this time, however his mother was there. The golden haired queen caught a glimpse of her, before Stafford could as he was talking to her. Finally, after two days, he wakes up. The morning was young, so no matter what she had to talk to him now, before he wandered off to get training in. No matter how much people prevented him from doing so, Stafford managed to find a way into the training grounds. One time, he somehow was able to get people think he was a new squire his Uncle Renly had gotten, and the best part of it was, his uncle helped him make it up. Arya was always fascinated by how Stafford got around rules, but some if not most of the time, Stafford would be hit with some sort of consequence due to his breaking of the rules. Arya tried entering the room.

"What is it you want, my dear?" The queen said eloquently. Stafford's mother, the Queen, was dignified and elegant, her very voice projecting a presence of utter dominance. No one could ever read her emotions, because even when she was enraged, her face remained calm while her soft voice turned sharp and cold. Arya felt fearful at her mask-like face every time she ever interacted with the queen, which was very few.

"I just came to see him, ask him a few things."

"Then you can ask them with me here, yes?" Queen Cersei gave her a cool look. Even as a smile curled at her lips, her eyes like green, frozen fire burned into Arya's.

"Mother, can you give us a few moments? I have a lot to explain to her, and we can discuss what we were discussing a bit later,"

Turning to her son, the queen knelt and gently patted Stafford's shoulder. "As you wish, my son. I'll be outside if you need me." The queen arose from her knee, glanced over Arya as if she were empty air, and walked out of the room. Arya walked in, and Stafford chuckled a bit. He seemed to be back to himself.

"So, I think I have a little explaining to do," He said blankly, a smile growing on his face. _You think this is a fucking joke?_

"A little? You grabbed my fucking sister, swept her off her feet, and kissed her. She held you close and you both started to slip each other's damn clothes off. And on top of all of this shit, your brother began to defile me, and you did _nothing._ How could you _do this_ to me, you sick bastard? You gave me a promise in Winterfell, that you we would always be friends, and that you would never hurt me. Damn you." Tears began to well in Arya's voice. Stafford got up from the bed, this time in clothes that weren't stained with his own vomit. Arya wanted an explanation. It's not like she cared if Stafford had decided to start a relationship like that with someone else, it's just that starting it with her sister was worse. _Sansa. Always her._ However, now that it happened, she seemed to care, not a bit, but a lot. Especially now that it was her own sister.

"I didn't want to hurt you, it's just-"

"You think my sister's better than me don't you?" She blinked out her tears and gave Stafford a bitter glare. "She's prettier and a lot more fun to be around than me. It's okay, everyone does, Stafford, but at least tell me that before you decide to…" The taste of rust filled her mouth, and she felt her blood burning through her heart, the beating in her chest racing. _I trusted you. And you gave me this_. She didn't care for a betrothal, but nevertheless, she could feel herself drifting a million leagues away as she saw him stroke her sister's legs and feel her curves beneath her dress. _I'll never hurt you_. _I swear, I swear, I swear..._

Arya used to be afraid of the dark. _No use fearing the dark. I'll always be in Sansa's shadow._ She tried desperately to hold back the her sobs. Her fists clenched as her tears stained her cheeks. Stafford, clutching his stomach, got up from the bed now and walked towards her.

"Arya, no. That's not what I think about you. What happened at the tournament, what you saw, I can't deny. Your sister is a close friend, and there are some feelings I have about her that seemed to have surfaced at the tournament. But don't you ever think that you're any lesser than her. Arya Stark, I-I love you." Stafford's pale eyes stared long into hers. She continued to try to wipe her face as she began to tear up. "Don't you cry no more." Stafford held her close, but he was clearly much taller than her, so she could only reach his mid chest when she was next to him. She didn't even try to get him off her this time. Then they separated and for a moment locked eyes, Stafford almost a foot taller than she was. And for some reason something inside her felt odd. But suddenly an urge overcame her, and almost uncharacteristically, she went up and tried to lean in and got close enough to his face as she got on her tip toes quicker than he could realize what was going on. Stafford seemed to comply and their lips connected. This was technically the second time she had ever been kissed before, after the incident with Joffrey. They fell into each other's arms. Her lips were soft and warm, and his hands were gentle as he stroked her face.

"I can see you two are busy, but there are more urgent matters than this, Stafford." They immediately broke off and they turned to see Renly. "Stafford, we need you in the council, there is an urgent _and I mean very urgent matter_ , we need you to record in our logs. Gods help us all,"


	22. AGOT Stafford VIII

**A/N: Alright everyone, thank you for tuning in for another late chapter. I tried turning it in to you on Monday, but I just got a little stuck on plot details. So, the news on Daenerys breaks out in this chapter, and a lot more will happen. Off paper, Eddard Stark gets attacked, and the plot gets moved along much quicker. Eddard also tells his daughters about how they would be going back to Winterfell earlier, as it is before the hunt, and before Beric is even sent to take Gregor Clegane out. This is to get to the war much quicker, as I am wishing for it to begin. Also, the next chapter will be a hybrid upload, and I will address reviews there as I do not have enough time to address them now. The hybrid upload will be the first two character POV chapter, a special Renly POV, and Stafford's final decision between Arya and Sansa. The voting will close on Thursday, April 6th at 9:00 Eastern Standard Time, so it is everyone's last chance to vote before seeing the final result. The ending cliffhanger is supposed to set up for the beginning of Chapter 23, and it is a bit rushed and a little corny, so bear with it.**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Stafford_

"Robert, I beg of you," Ned pleaded, "hear what you are saying. You are talking of murdering a child."

"That silvered whore is pregnant!" The king's fist slammed down on the council table loud as a thunderclap. "I warned you this would happen, Ned. Back in the barrowlands, I warned you, but you did not care to hear it. Well, you'll hear it now. I want them dead, mother and child both, and that fool Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them dead. ALL of them." Stafford, had just been awake for a literally an hour, and events seem to happen faster than Orys the horse's full gallop speed on Renly's herbal treatment. Renly and Stafford were literally looking at each other at every interval of this long drawn-out argument between the King and Lord Eddard.

"Then let it be on my head, so long as it is done. I am not so blind that I cannot see the shadow of the axe when it is hanging over my own neck."

"There is no axe," Lord Eddard told his king. "Only the shadow of a shadow, twenty years removed . . . if it exists at all."

Lord Eddard looked at the spymaster coldly. "You would bring us the whisperings of a traitor half a world away, my lord. Perhaps Mormont is wrong. Perhaps he is lying." Stafford and Renly Baratheon did not wish to undergo this. They were talking about things that didn't apply to them, they were both either very young or not even born yet when these events occurred. Renly was eight, and Stafford wasn't even born yet. Stafford knew that the last living Targaryen's were and presented a risk to the realm in his own opinion, and even Renly was convinced of it. If his father thought about killing the Targaryen, it would be the equivalent of killing a girl, who was barely even a woman grown at that point. And Stafford seemed against killing her for one reason only, she was bearing a child. If she wasn't Stafford would gladly gut her and chop off her brother's head with his axe. Stafford's hatred of the Targaryen's for what they did to his father's family, and his own father was mutual. But Stafford was not about to harm an innocent child, who only posed a threat in the future. He would rather just keep him in exile forever, rather than just killing him. Then when he grew up and decided to get any strong ideas about overthrowing the current rulers

"Ser Jorah would not dare deceive me," Varys said with a sly smile. "Rely on it, my lord. The princess is with child."

"So you say. If you are wrong, we need not fear. If the girl miscarries, we need not fear. If she births a daughter in place of a son, we need not fear. If the babe dies in infancy, we need not fear." Lord Eddard said cooly. _If we had killed the damned wench a few years ago, we would have been fine, but no, they had to wait till morals were brought into question_. No matter the wretchedness of the dragonspawn, slaying babes in the bellies of their mothers left Stafford struggling to keep his resolve. If he hadn't existed it would have been different, he would have personally killed the glorified tavern wench, and her bastard of a brother. Then again, Stafford was just here to write down what was being said, for the survivors of this mess to sift through and gaze over when they pull it from the ruins.

"But if it is a boy?" His father insisted. "If he lives?"

"The narrow sea still lies between us, I shall fear the Dothraki if they teach their horses how to gallop on water,"

Renly shrugged. "The matter seems simple enough to me. We ought to have had Viserys and his sister killed years ago, but His Grace my brother made the mistake of listening to Jon Arryn."

"Here! Here!" Stafford managed to exclaim and then everyone in small council seemed to look at him as he said those words. Stafford didn't know why, but he suddenly felt uncomfortable. He quickly silenced himself and went back to writing down whatever was being said on his paper with Renly chuckling a little. If Stannis didn't go back to Dragonstone, according to Renly while he was asleep after the aftermath of the Hand's tourney, he would have probably been escorted out and not allowed back in the small council chambers for the day.

"Anyway, mercy is never a mistake, Lord Renly," Ned replied. "On the Trident, Ser Barristan here cut down a dozen good men, Robert's friends and mine. When they brought him to us, grievously wounded and near death, Roose Bolton urged us to cut his throat, but your brother said, 'I will not kill a man for loyalty, nor for fighting well,' and sent his own maester to tend Ser Barristan's wounds." He gave the king a long cool look. "Would that man were here today."

His father, King Robert had shame enough to blush. "It was not the same," he complained. "Ser Barristan was a knight of the Kingsguard." A rift had opened in the young stag's heart. Stafford continued writing down what was being said, and he was still divided within himself. _Didn't matter who someone was, as even murdering babies would have to be the lowest one could stoop._ However, he did believe that justice does not discriminate with their sex, and if they had eliminated the threat a long time ago, he would have killed a woman that was a threat to the realm as king. If his father had not listen to Jon Arryn about this, then the whore would be dead, and they wouldn't have to deal with this problem. However, this was not the case, and the small council erupted into vicious arguing.

"Whereas Daenerys is a fourteen-year-old girl." Ned knew he was pushing this well past the point of wisdom, yet he could not keep silent. "Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?"

"To put an end to Targaryens!" His father growled. Stafford could feel the wrath and anger in his father's voice, "Their influence will stop RIGHT NOW."

"Your Grace, I never knew you to fear _shadows._ " Ned fought to keep the scorn out of his voice, and failed.

"Enough!" the king bellowed. "I am sick of talk. I'll be done with this, or be damned. What say you all? Seven hells, I'll even allow Stafford to vote on this one, just to show you Ned how obvious the solution is!"

"She must be killed," Lord Renly declared.

"We have no choice," murmured Varys. "Sadly, sadly . . ."

"Your Grace, there is honor in facing an enemy on the battlefield, but none in killing him in his mother's womb. Forgive me, but I must stand with Lord Eddard." Ser Barristan told them all, finally garnering a no vote.

"My order serves the realm, not the ruler. Once I counseled King Aerys as loyally as I counsel King Robert now, so I bear this girl child of his no ill will. Yet I ask you this—should war come again, how many soldiers will die? How many towns will burn? How many children will be ripped from their mothers to perish on the end of a spear?" He stroked his luxuriant white beard, infinitely sad, infinitely weary. "Is it not wiser, even kinder, that Daenerys Targaryen should die now so that tens of thousands might live?" Stafford waited eagerly for his turn, but now it wouldn't even matter unless Lord Baelish would vote against it. It was three to two. Stafford thought about it for a moment it was a hard decision to make.

"I abstain from the vote, I am the master of coin, and I would like actually see the boy's decision," Lord Baelish stated.

"You are going to let a fifteen-year old boy decide the fate of another human being. What in the seven hells has gotten into you all, especially you Robert. You think this is a game?"

"No, I believe this a chance for us to see an unbiased view of someone, who was never directly involved with the damned Targaryen scourge. Now, Staff, what is your vote?" This was the first time Stafford had ever gotten a say in the council, in his fifteen years of existence. He only became the glorified secretary two years ago, but he wasn't even allowed to speak in the council chambers until now. With Lord Baelish abstaining, he could lock the vote, preventing a majority. Stafford had the rest of the small council staring at him intently like he had never had before in his life.

"Kill her. As much as it pains me to say it, we should have done it a long time ago. Just kill her and finish this madness." Stafford's grim words broke the silence, to the glee of his father.

"As you can see, we finally have some sense! So how should we kill her!" His father declared. Ser Barristan had his head down, now not even looking at Stafford.

He pushed back his chair and stood. "Do it yourself, Robert. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Look her in the eyes before you kill her. See her tears, hear her last words. You owe her that much at least."

"Gods," the king swore, the word exploding out of him as if he could barely contain his fury. "You mean it, damn you." He reached for the flagon of wine at his elbow, found it empty, and flung it away to shatter against the wall. It barely missed Stafford, and Stafford had to dodge out of the way."I am out of wine and out of patience. Enough of this. Just have it done."

"I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to it." Lord Stark seemed adamant in his position, defending it till the bitter end. Stafford wanted to be out the council chambers, it was enough for one day, and Stafford did not like it at all. He wasn't burning up, he was burning out. And now he simply stepping in line to walk amongst the dead.

He pointed an angry finger at Lord Eddard. "You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark. You will do as I command you, or I'll find me a Hand who will."

"I wish him every success." Ned unfastened the heavy clasp that clutched at the folds of his cloak, the ornate silver hand that was his badge of office. He laid it on the table in front of the king, saddened by the memory of the man who had pinned it on him, the friend he had loved. "I thought you a better man than this, Robert. I thought we had made a nobler king."

His father's face was purple. "Out," he croaked, choking on his rage. "Out, damn you, I'm done with you. What are you waiting for? Go, run back to Winterfell. And make certain I never look on your face again, or I swear, I'll have your head on a spike!" _What in the seven hells was going on the court?_ Renly and Stafford looked at each other, and if Stannis were here, the three of them would have turned to each other. _Did the hand just resign his position?_

The hand bowed, and turned heel and strode out of the council chambers.

"I suggest we end the meeting for today, a lot has happened," Grand Maester Pycelle told them all. Everyone nodded, even Stafford's father begrudgingly. Stafford and Renly got out of the chambers. _Murderers. All of us._

* * *

Stafford stretched his arm as he drew the bowstring back. His hands were shaking as usual, and he when he released the arrow. It landed squarely on the right, and Stafford smiled. As usual he was off target as evidenced by the four arrows, that were at the edge of the target, not even close to the target. His marksmanship was not even the level Joffrey was at. _My brother was born with a crossbow in his hands._

Stafford reached at his back for another arrow from his practice quiver, no matter how hard he tried, he was just not good enough at the damn archery range. He nocked another arrow, and this time before he could even fire the arrow, an arrow was at the dead center of the target. Stafford thought he had lost it, and quickly stopped drawing his bow, stumbling back in surprise. He turned and saw Arya with a bow, not knowing how she got that, and remembered that no one was in the training grounds at this time. It was towards the end of the day, and everyone was preparing for the night. Stafford wondered whether Arya had heard about what had happened in the council chambers last night.

"Practicing?" She asked as she strode to him.

"Not anymore," Stafford dropped his bow, losing to Joffrey was one thing, but getting beaten by an eleven year old girl, who was going to be five years younger than he was, is another matter entirely. Stafford didn't like the notion of being outcompeted by anyone, anyone his age. He didn't like to feel weak or worse than anyone else. He just felt week when that happens and he didn't like to feel weak or inferior to anyone. He hated being really bad at archery, he didn't like how people saw him.

Arya walked up to him with a smile on her face. After the moment they had shared in his room Stafford can't help, but feel different around her. Back in Winterfell, and most of the time before the events of the tournament, she was no more than someone Stafford simply enjoyed his time with. Even as a boy of fifteen, Stafford did not wish to involve himself with romance. He didn't know the reason behind what drew him to Arya, and unfortunately her sister, Sansa, but it just did. He was in a predicament, where he would be forced to choose someone, and sometimes he wished he didn't have to. His choice would inevitably hurt someone, he considered his friend. Despite his unusually casual attitude about everything, he would be forced to take this action seriously as it determined his future. However, no matter how Stafford continued to try to think about it, his judgement would always seem to fail him.

If he was just going on tradition, and what was right in the court's eye, he would have to choose Arya. Arya would make a great companion later on in his life, and her nature complemented his personality greatly in his opinion. However, Stafford, deep in his heart, knew Arya didn't want to be tied down to marriage or any institution of that sort. She was the person, who wanted complete independence from anyone, and Stafford understood her to the fullest. Another nagging issue is the amount of years he would have to wait for her to come of age, because he simply did not feel completely comfortable having a committed relationship with someone as young as eleven. He would be sixteen in less than a fortnight, and he would've preferred such relations at a later age to ensure the health of his wife and heirs. But deep in Stafford's heart he could feel a bond forming, that he himself did not even deny. He did not know if the moment they shared was just a result of compulsion from her, or she could also feel the beginnings of the bond between the two. Something strong, something that would last forever.

However, there was another uneasiness growing inside him. Despite the multiple times he had denied it to Joffrey, he couldn't help but think that Joffrey had a point. Sansa and him were close, and after what happened at the tournament, they could be considered much more. However, Stafford couldn't read or even understand the mind of another, so he really had no idea what she really felt about him. One thing was for certain however, if Stafford was really truly being honest with himself, he felt something for Sansa, and it became very apparent after the actions he had done at the Hand's tournament. His hidden feelings that he had harbored deep within his heart, had unexpectedly surfaced, in a time of growing turmoil. _First the Dragon's Bitch becomes pregnant, next the hand leaves, and finally I'm undergoing a crisis within myself. What next, winter comes AND the white walkers come back?_

"Stafford? Is there something wrong?" He heard Arya say. Stafford snapped out of his trance after he dropped his bow. He had drifted off to where only the seven knows the location. Stafford didn't really know what the in the seven hells was happening to him. Everything was moving fast, faster than Stafford had ever wanted it to.

"No, sorry just drifted off for a bit," Stafford stated smiling, "Anyway, what are you doing here. Wasn't expecting you here today,"

"I knew I'd find you here and I wanted to ask you something,"

"What is it?" Stafford asked curiously.

"Is there anyone you know, who would even think of killing my father?" Now that was a surprise to hear from Arya. Usually she didn't ask questions like that especially to Stafford. Whenever they spent time together, they would usually talk about light hearted things, like swordplay, silly and sometimes scary stories, and the like. However, it struck something in Stafford when he heard that. Lord Stark had resigned the position of the hand and when he had done so it could. It was the last thing the hand did, before the whole Daenerys affair. Stafford was surprised that the hand hadn't told Arya about going back to Winterfell. Stafford did not realize the significance of the decisions they had made in the court.

"I wouldn't know anyone who would purposely try to kill your father. Why do you ask such a question?" Stafford asked her.

"While you were out hunting with your father and _Joffrey_ , I explored the dungeons a little on my own, hunting for cats,"

"Cats. What in the seven hells would posses you to do such a thing?"

"I was just chasing them around, like what Syrio told me. Anyway, I heard a few men say something about killing the hand. Then your younger brother and sister found me after the men had gone away,"

"Odd. I wouldn't know of anybod-" He could not finish the sentence. Ser Barristan made a surprise appearance, which he had a weird habit of doing. Stafford didn't really understand what it was with wandering into conversations, but he was good at it. Stafford could definitely see how he had performed his duty of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard well. Ser Barristan

"Arya, we need you. Stafford you can come along if you like, but there is something that happened,"

"What happened?" Arya asked Ser Barristan.

"Someone, which we have now identified as Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard attacked your father, injuring his leg,"

"Wait what?" Stafford exclaimed, "Why would my uncle do that? Where is he?"

"Last seen riding hard out of King's Landing and toward the Westerlands. If this gets out to the public, I do not think Winterfell will be pleased with the Lannister's about attacking their Lord in public like that. Your uncle wasn't even disguised."

Stafford nodded, "Arya, I need a moment. Actually, you know what? Go on ahead. I need to find my mother." Stafford strode out of the training hall before anyone could even say anything else to him, hiding his crestfallen face.

Stafford looked everywhere for his mother, but she couldn't be found anywhere. Disheartened even more, he just returned to his room. Before he could do anything in his room, like throw some objects like he usually did every time he was enraged at anything. Stafford always felt better when he threw things at walls. Made him feel better, and sometimes doing damage to other things can be fun. However, someone he had been looking for a while had been sitting at his bedside, with the most stoic look on her face.

"Mother, I have been looking everywhere for you! Did you know what Ser Barristan has just informed me about?" Stafford asked with a panicked voice. His tone really wasn't meant to make someone feel comfortable that was for sure.

"My brother assaulted Lord Stark, correct?" His mother told him in an unusually flat voice. "Oh I've heard about what happened near that damn whore house. Let me tell you this Stafford, how should we deal with traitors, who abandon and insult our own king? Your own father? Ordered the capture of your uncle Tyrion?" Stafford thought about it for a moment. He wouldn't call Lord Stark a traitor, despite him not agreeing with what he did by leaving his father behind. And though his heart began to smolder from the fury of his uncle Tyrion being captured, negotiations should've gone… smoother.

"And? Simply leaving his position as hand of the king didn't warrant an assault. We could've talked out his order to capture of my uncle. Do you know how many enemies your house can make with that rationale?"

" _Our_ house, my son. You have just as much Lannister in you than Baratheon, even if you do look like your father. Even your coat of arms shows it, it has a lion and stag in it. And even without the assault, they are still our enemies. They are with us or they are against us." She declared. Stafford could see her shaky fervor in voice defending her own brother. Stafford still didn't agree with a full on assault against someone that peacefully, and under such understandable circumstances, resigned from the position of Hand of the King. If he had attacked his father, then it would be a different story. No matter what, he would have to defend his uncle's stance on assaulting him, seven hells he might have been part of the assault. But, this was taking it to a whole new level, possibly starting a damn war with the North over something that could have been dealt with in a more agreeable fashion.

"Mother, I understand, but we simply can't risk a war right now, or anytime at all, for that matter. I know nothing about politics or wars or the game, but even one of the lowliest smallfolk, of the filthiest slums in our proud city, would clearly realize the Starks will not take lightly to this assault."

"We will deal with them accordingly, and I'm sure Robert will be able to understand the gravity of the situation. He'll make the right decision in the end, or else...well let's leave it at that, yes?" Stafford wondered what her mother was about to say, but he shrugged it off. He just wanted to be done with all this politics. So much had happened and Stafford didn't really know how to deal with it. Stafford Baratheon didn't really care what happened to the realm, as long as it didn't bother him. He didn't care about being a prince, as long as he was alive and allowed to live at least a respectable life. He didn't crave power, rather he craved survival. He knew what happened to people with power, they usually ended up dead, overworked, or worse. Most nights, Stafford didn't know what kept him going. The problems never stopped coming.

"We better hope my father makes a respectable decision. I would hate to see any bloodshed in the kingdom. If the situation escalates to war… well, let's not talk about what would happen then," Stafford responded cooly. He didn't know what will happen there.

"What's important is that you recognize who your friends and who your enemies are. Don't worry about another person's decisions. Just remember the only decisions that matter come from your family, and that these decisions will only benefit you in the end," His mother explained. Stafford nodded, as it seemed like a statement of reassurance. Stafford sighed, still in his training armor. _If all the seven hells break loose, and a war does start, who are my friends? Who are my foes? How much will I lose?_

* * *

It had been six days since Lord Eddard had been attacked by Jamie Lannister, his own uncle. According to what had been described by witnesses and Lord Baelish fleeing from the scene, it was a brutal melee, and Ned Stark fought so furiously and viciously, he nearly killed his uncle, had it not been for the timely intervention of a couple spearmen. And even then, as Ned Stark collapsed, he managed to kill both spearmen. Along with over seventeen other soldiers sent to capture him. Though Ned was left alive, his entire guard was massacred. But even in being surrounded by over thirty men and Jaime Lannister, he made his last stand the best he could. It was short, and not as long as the tournament melee, Stafford had been in, but it was definitely bloodier. It seems real fights were that way. Once a man got a sharpened sword, it seemed they either responded in two ways, becoming sharper and deadlier like the blade, or cowardly and more defensive. Unless the person was a truly formidable warrior, it was the other option. Ned Stark fought like a demon from the seven hells, fearless and brutal, and if he could've killed Jaime, Stafford could only imagine the northman's wrath and nigh-unstoppable skill. And if the histories were to be taken into perspective, Lord Stark's brother Brandon was even better at combat.

Stafford had practiced more on his technique in the training hall. He had sparred with a mix of squires and knights, and even Ser Beric Dondarrion, hoping to keep Stafford's skill in the proper form. They fought and reached so many stalemates, until Stafford somehow snuck in a few lucky blows and defeated him after the agony of the stalemate rounds. Ser Barristan swore the entire training hall had watched a long, drawn out fight between the two. Even after his victory, Stafford still felt that he needed to improve. Even in the melee, that he somehow won, he probably wouldn't have beaten Ser Gregor in a one-on-one confrontation. Stafford would have lost against him if Renly hadn't distracted him in his blind fury. He even sparred with Renly some when he decided to go for a round one day. Stafford beat him pretty badly, but the ground wasn't really Renly's best fighting position. He was much better as cavalry on a horse, than he was in open engagements on the ground. Exact opposite of Stafford, who relied on momentum on the horse. In anything, but a joust, Stafford was only of above average at best, and even slightly below average during his worst days in a mounted combat scenario. Even in jousting, he wasn't exactly a master.

His father had went the hand to see if had woken up before Stafford went to the training grounds this morning. From what his father told him, he would give him his position as hand back if he would accept. Stafford hoped that it would end some of the hostilities that seemed to be brewing between some of his own kin, the Lannisters, and the Starks. It wouldn't be great if a war happened between two powerful houses. He would also tell Lord Eddard if he would accept, if he would sit the Iron throne for a few days for a hunt. A hunt that just happened to coincide with Stafford's sixteenth nameday. It was toward the end of the year, and Stafford would turn sixteen the same year Joffrey had turned sixteen as well. For some peculiar reason, Stafford was born eleven months after Joffrey, but somehow ended up being born in the same year as him. Usually instead of a tournament, Stafford asked for a hunt. Not this year, though, his father had planned a tournament to happen for Stafford, but the Hand's tournament changed that and they were going to hold a hunt, much to Stafford's relief. The tournament was more than he had bargained for.

Stafford had ended his practice for the day. Stafford tired made his way to the Godswood, like he usually did after a long hard day of training. The trees somehow made Stafford feel safe and calm. He didn't go deep into it, however, he stayed in the outskirts where there was nice clearing, and a few stone benches. Not many people knew of this spot, sometimes Arya and him would come here. Sometimes, Stafford spent an eternity here, and only came back to finally eat when the sun came down. Although, he had lived in King's Landing for most if not all of his life, Stafford still got his breath taken away by the beauty of it all. Stafford sat down and observed the trees wondering what it would be like to be one. Swaying with wind, having no care or thought of what was around you. Living and breathing without a care in the world.

"I didn't expect anyone to be here," He heard someone say. He turned and it surprised him even more. He half expected it to be Arya, as she was the only person he knew of that even remotely knew of the location. And indeed it wasn't, it was the exactly the opposite of who he thought. It was Sansa, standing there, looking bleak.

"Sansa… I didn't expect anyone to be here either," Stafford said quietly, somewhat ashamed. Sansa didn't really look like she was quite that happy for whatever reason, "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing is wrong," She tried to say, but her face revealed something else. Stafford wasn't buying it, he definitely knew something was wrong.

"You can't fool me like that Sansa. I know you too well," Stafford motioned her to take a deta next to him. _A little too well, according to my brother._ Stafford wondered whether his brother had gotten on her for what happened in the tournament. They hadn't talked much afterwards, but they both knew their relationship had definitely changed. They just didn't know what had changed in it. Sansa just sat next to him, and Stafford could tell she was distraught about something. "Did my brother do anything to you again?"

"No, no. It's just, we might not be able to see each other again. You might not even see Arya, if that's all you cared about. I know you…" Sansa broke off and shuddered a little bit.

"Why? If you're worried about your image because of Joffrey, I can deal with him," Stafford managed to raise his voice, still filled with discontent towards himself for his actions.

"No, my father wants us to leave. We will be leaving on a ship back to Winterfell in three days. I-" she started before began to fade. She then began to sniffle a little bit, and Stafford put a stop that by holding her close.

"Don't be sad, I'm sure I can talk to him," Stafford stated.

"Talk to him about what?" Stafford heard a voice say. Stafford turned to see, who it was. It was Arya and it seemed like she didn't really like what she saw.


	23. AGOT Hybrid POV I

**A/N: Well, the poll has ended and finally, we have decided the pairing. This update will now have a scene deciding the pairing. Keep in mind, this is the first time I have ever resolved a love triangle like this, and I really think it was the best I could do. Please, review and leave constructive feedback about it. I tried my hardest to keep both characters in character when doing this, but the hard part was keeping Arya in character. Arya is not a character built for romantic pairings without having to sacrifice some of her cannon personality, and Sansa was relatively easier to do. This scene would have been** _ **extraordinarily different**_ **if the the poll had gone the opposite of what it had done. Now that we are done with plot related polls, we will no longer do much relevant polls besides maybe a few character popularity polls in the near future, or a poll in regards to which character you want to see more POVs from. I will once again discuss reviews at a later date, because I have already had to post the chapter at 12:30-something in the morning. Thank you for the patience, and hope you enjoy this attempt at closing some plot details.**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Stafford_

"Don't mind her, I bet she's glad we're going to leave anyway. She attacked me earlier this morning for... no reason," Sansa glumly spoke, low and dreary. Stafford struggled to keep his stand a little as Sansa continued to hold on to him tightly. Arya seemed to have taken offense to this aggressively. Fists clenched, her grey eyes pierced Stafford's calm, and stirred fear in his heart.

"For _no reason?_ You still somehow believe that _I_ caused the entire incident at the Trident! I can't believe you held on to that. And what's worse, you brought both Joffrey and Stafford into it," Arya suddenly screamed to the heavens. This was escalating in ways, Arya clearly wasn't having it today, and Stafford could see the rage in her eyes. Stafford really saw a little of himself against Joffrey in that argument. Except there wasn't some other person joffrey was clinging onto. "You're a liar, and a manipulative bitch. I have more of a right to be angry with you. You find the most clever ways to get Stafford alone, and then try to use your charm against him, which he unfortunately caves into. Was that areshole Joffrey not enough for you?"

"Why don't you just _go away_ and leave us alone!" Sansa screamed back, still clinging onto Stafford. Stafford was starting to feel uncomfortable, but he tried his hardest to feel like a statue, unmoving, unafraid. Maybe they won't even notice him in their rage. _If I'm quiet enough, they might not think I'm here anymore. Yes, that is a good solution._

"Leave you two alone and let what happened after the tournament happen again? I know the game you are playing at. You are here for one reason, to try to convince Stafford, _my_ betrothed, using your lies and wiles. That way you can stay in King's Landing, which thanks to you is more miserable, playing princess in the Red Keep." Arya seemed to have had enough. Stafford thought she had reached her limit, and it might be best if Sansa just kept her distance from her. _Her rage is best left untreaded upon_. Stafford hoped the two would calm down and think about what is going on for the moment. Stafford really didn't know who to side with or what in the seven hells they were all mad at each other for. Stafford didn't really know why the two sister would fight one another with such contempt and hatred. _But considering me and Joffrey, I really shouldn't be talking._ Although he was taller and stronger and tougher than his older brother, he was much less refined in mental capacity. Joffrey often read him like a book and played him like a lute. This really set him off, and it really made it seem like he was the instigator for some of the times, despite his brother's constant abuse. Most of the time, both their mother and father seem to tire of the two fighting so often. But this was different. It wasn't Joffrey, scornful at not only what he didn't have, but what Stafford had and what he never will. Arya wouldn't act like that if it was just that. Stafford didn't even dislike Joffrey and did his best to love him, but sometimes he thought that it was better to defend oneself than think about bonds and trying to repair them. Stafford didn't know what Joffrey hated about him, or what he had against him or Tommen or Myrcella. In fact, Stafford envied lots of things Joffrey had. He never thought of much to like about himself, and people like Joffrey never stopped making it worse. _You were their toy. They loved breaking you._

This wasn't about Joffrey and Stafford, though. This was about Arya and Sansa. _The pack breaks, but the wolves live on._

"Stafford, tell her to leave. She isn't wanted here, right?" Sansa asked him finally dragging him into this, and Stafford hoped she hadn't.

"You manipulative little… Stafford, she's wrong here. Don't listen to her." Arya pleaded to Stafford. Stafford didn't like seeing them fight like this, and him having to be dragged into this. Stafford seemed to remain silent.

"Can't you see you are bothering us? Stafford never wanted _you._ "

"Just like Joffrey never wanted _you_ either. He can get anyone like you anywhere in the kingdom I bet. Girls like you are always easy to find, While I was taking a stroll, I overheard they were on sale a few streets down." And now they were taking shots at each other. _Oh shit. I just wanted to look at trees after a long day's training, and this drama is making the training feel worth it._

"I would give you more time responding to you if you were worth it, but guess what Arya? You're just not worth it. You're not worth Stafford's time or anyone's time for that matter."

"Again, what possesses you to lie. Stafford, remember what you said to me days ago, in your room? He said he loved me, and if he said that I'm definitely worth his time,"

"As if, Stafford wouldn't love someone like _you_. You said it yourself, you don't believe love and if you don't believe in love how can you believe it when someone says they love you?"

"You don't have the right to talk to me like that. Just because your own betrothed hates you, doesn't mean you can _ruin_ mine, and try to steal his heart to fill the void in your heart, or _wherever_. Like I said, I'm not interested in love the way you obsess over it. You don't love him. You just love the stories." Arya spat venomously. "Stafford doesn't care about you as much as he does about me. We've been friends for longer, and the only reason you _think_ you are his is, because of the kindness he has shown to you."

"No, he cares for me more than he does for you. When Joffrey decided I wasn't good enough for him, Stafford came to me and showed that we can find people, who care in the most unexpected and most fortuitous circumstances. And he cares for me like I do for him," Sansa started tightening her grip on Stafford.

"Stafford, why don't you just tell us what you really feel about us? Why don't you give us your thoughts, since apparently my sister now wants to die over you" Arya asked him, blunt and cold, eyes tearing into him. _The seven hells have frozen over._ Stafford had to break his silence, or he might get even more.

"Let's calm down, and I think I know what is going on here," Stafford stated, "I got myself in a little mess, I've been hanging around you two, and my bad decisions have resulted in me sparking an interest of the two of you. For whatever twisted version of love you two thought of."

"Stafford, that's a stretch. If you really like my sister that much, I'm sure the betrothals can change, I doubt Joffrey would really care by now after all you've done with her. Be my guest, but you didn't need to lie about anything and go playing with my heart like that," Arya said flatly. Stafford looked at her, and could see she might have been on the verge of tears. Her clenched fists trembled, and her eyes darkened like an oncoming storm.

"Arya, I didn't lie to you. I _care_ about you," Stafford blurted out passionately. Sansa suddenly broke off and looked at him indignantly.

"What?"

"And I care for you too, Sansa. It's just-"

"You can't love both of us like this. You better tell the truth, which one of us do you _really care for._ "

"Spare Stafford your little tricks. Staff, which one of us do you _really love_?" Arya asked matter of factly, "When you said the words, 'I love you' to both of us, did that mean _anything_ to you?"

The two looked at him expecting an answer. Stafford rubbed his hands to his face, knowing that this decision had to come eventually. He loved and cared for them both, but he knew that one day he would have to choose, which one he really cared for in the way he had always imagined love to be. He imagined it to be someone he fought for, someone he could talk to, and someone that he needed as much as they needed him. A true love transcends the laws that bind, and it would be someone that would be there and risk it all. And if he lost that someone, he would also fall into oblivion. A place worse than death, a place without his beloved. There was only ever one person, you can share that with, and no one else would ever replace that person. Arya, ever since they met had been his companion. The last he wanted to do was to hurt her, and he promised Jon in Winterfell to take care of her, no matter what happened in the life that they had lived. Arya was adventurous, mischevious, and she had a beauty in her that hardly anyone in the Seven Kingdoms would know. Sansa, however, came to him much later since they had both met. It took the unfortunate event at the Trident for them to even be able to speak, and it took the neglect of his brother to get her to care for him. Her beauty was undeniable, Stafford knew that, and everyone would see. But, Stafford realized that there was one more alluring trait to her. Her complete innocence, and her dependence on it. Arya was like that too, but Sansa, no matter words he had to describe it, had the quality taken above and beyond. Two choices, but only one was truly the right one. And it was the one that had been in his heart since he first met the two at Winterfell.

"I meant what I said when I love you to both of you. Sansa, I never expected that I would fall for you when I met you, but I did. I'm sorry Arya, but she is the one I love more," Stafford stated knowing that his words might have caused him to break the promise he had made to Jon in Winterfell. _So much for not hurting her._

Arya looked like she had tensed up since he said those words. Her fists were clenched, and she looked more agitated than before. She walked up to Stafford, and Sansa went closer to him too.

"Your word never meant anything. Not even a beggar on the streets would want to wipe their arse with your 'word and bond'. But hey, at least you know what you want." She declared, almost shakily in her voice. Her face was visibly upset. Then without warning she landed a blow with all the strength she could muster right in Stafford's face. It hurt more than any blow he had taken from a sword and it cut his heart deeper than any rumor or provocative insult. He fell back, dazed and pained beyond what he could understand. "I hope she was worth all you did, Stafford. Your head is so deep below the water you tread. I hope you _fucking drown._ Goodbye, you sick bastard. The Others take you, and the Old Gods and the New _forsake_ you. And Sansa..." She turned her murderous glare to her own sister. "Your fate is fixed. The Gods can't save you now."And without another word, she walked away. This left Sansa and Stafford alone again.

"Are you hurt?" Sansa asked him looking into his eyes, "I'm sorry I had to bother you like this…"

"It's alright, Sansa. I feel horrible what happened though. Are we the victims here or the hypocrites? No matter how much I deny it, you are just a craving that I can't forget-" before he could finish, Sansa pulled him in closer. This time, they faced each and looked each other closely eyes locked.

"I feel bad for what I said to Arya and I'm sure she didn't mean what she said about me earlier too, but...I'm glad you chose me over her," she managed to say. Stafford smiled, still feeling guilty about what he had just done to Arya's feelings. Stafford hoped she could repair her relationship with her, as it was well beyond strained now. Before Stafford could say anything back to Sansa, she pulled him closer as she leaned in. Stafford met her and they passionately kissed, alone and uninterrupted for one of the only times Stafford could remember. Stafford could feel her breath, and her touch and he knew that in his heart or maybe even just his primal instincts telling him he had made the right decision. He didn't know how long they were there until he broke off suddenly.

"I can't help, but feel wrong. You're still betrothed to my brother, Joffrey and-"

"You'll think of something, and whatever happens, you've already done more than enough to have have my heart, Stafford Baratheon. If you hadn't existed, I don't know what would have happened to me," Stafford looked at her, and for a moment, he felt like he was someone else. He felt like he was his father as he spent his last moments with his former betrothed in the rebellion. The future Lord of Storm's End had once again fallen for the Eldest daughter of a Stark.

And so they stayed in the wood for a while in each other's arms. Stafford left knowing that what he had done he could not take back, and his actions changed the outlook of his life.

* * *

 _Renly_

Once again, the hunting party had left the castle after the sun had risen. Renly enjoyed hunting, but today was a far more special day. His only blood nephew was celebrating his sixteenth nameday during this hunt. They were hunting game like they usually did for his brother's second son's commemoration of birth. They hunted deep within the woods just outside of the Landing. It was thick with plenty of game: wild boar, some mountain lion, and maybe even a bear. He rode with the usual suspects, His brother of course, who didn't miss a single hunt, his nephew Stafford, who he usually rode beside along with his father, Joffrey was there as well. Ser Barristan, and many more. Lancel was also there, giving wine to Robert, which he always accepted.

"Robert, you drink too damn much. You'll need all your wits about you if you want to maximize the capability of your hunt," Renly stated.

"If I wanted your damn opinion, Renly, I would ask for it. More of that wine, Lancel!" His brother roared. Stafford looked a little silent today, but he could see that even he was a little nervous about the amount his father was drinking. Renly sighed a little and pulled his horse up next to Stafford.

"You've been awfully silent today, lad. Come now, it's your sixteenth nameday," Renly looked up and down the young stag. Stafford looked at him and it looked like Renly had caused him to get out of a distant state of thought. "What are you thinking about, Stafford?"

"Probably thinking about my betrothed, knowing his twisted mind. He has his eyes, hands, and Seven knows _what else_ all over _my_ woman," Joffrey said scornfully, his low voice barely concealing his contempt.

"By the seven, can't you two stop arguing? Let's just celebrate _your_ brother's name day in peace!" Robert declared with a little slur in his voice. The two surprisingly stopped assaulting each other with words, and Stafford went lagged behind, to the back of the riders. At some point, the group proceeded on foot. After killing some more game, the rested for a bit. Stafford sat with Renly and they began to talk. Stafford unsurprisingly began the talk with Renly.

"Can tell you something, Renly? Preferably without Joffrey or father hearing," Stafford asked. Renly wondered what he was going to ask. Renly knew it had something to do with incident at the Hand's tournament.

"What is it," Renly replied trying to figure out what Stafford wanted to tell him. He knew what the theme of his question was before it even left Stafford's mouth, but whatever ran threw Stafford's mind had always been a mystery to him. He was just like Robert, one moment he was this man everyone knew, who didn't think about anything only what he wanted to accomplish, then he turned into a drunk that people thought wanted to wash away his problems, then he turned into a passive aggressive being. The point was he was unpredictable, and Renly knew it was part of him. This was one of his greatest strengths in his personalities, but also one of his greatest flaws. His enemies wouldn't know what he thought of or even wanted to attempt, instead they get an enigma. Yet even he can't truly know himself and it could cause great tragedies if he isn't able to control or truly predict his own tendencies.

"I've never told anyone this and after what happened last night and at the tournament…" Stafford began. Renly somehow knew where this was going and maybe taste in women was inherited, "I don't think there is a nice way of saying this, but I think I have fostered a… deeper kind of relationship with Joffrey's betrothed." Renly wasn't surprised at this at all by his statement. He gave out a sigh trying to think of what would happen, "I know it's wrong and all, but I can't control my thoughts and actions around her. I mean just yesterday, even though I tried in every bone in my body to love and care about my betrothed, she just kept on popping into my mind. I've hurt too many people pursuing this, broke every oath I swore, and have committed a great deal of unforgivable things. You're the only one I can ask for advice about this. If I go to father, he'd kill me, and my mother, she wouldn't take me seriously. Ser Barristan would probably tell father, and Stannis would just lecture me about my duty, so if you have any advice for me Renly, please say it now."

The conviction in Stafford's voice told of a tale of someone lost and cornered. Someone entirely beyond the depths of his mind. Someone stuck in a tight place, where no man wished to ever see, furthermore venture. Someone beyond their abilities to cope his ability to cope. And as he exhaled his pain, it looked like it left him painfully numb. Renly wasn't a miracle worker, nor was he an expert at everything under the rising sun. He wanted to help his nephew, the only nephew he could stomach and the only nephew he had really seemed to get along with. He was like the brother he never had, but always wanted. Not the cold Stannis, or the Robert that he knew now, but someone that didn't feel the need to exert an authority of him, and someone he could influence.

"Stafford, I'm not expert in love, and I am by no means an expert of what is right and what is wrong. But, know this: If you truly love the girl, Sansa, you already know and understand what you should do by now. Whatever happens, no matter how society may think your love is wrong, and no matter how much people seem to judge you for loving, you know that you made the right decision. Because once you start to doubt the love, then maybe you never truly loved at all," He stated. He felt that came out from the experiences he had within himself. Renly was a man, who had a much different taste than both his brothers. He felt love differently, and he loved in a way others may find wrong. He only had to look at Loras Tyrell to find out that he truly felt this way. _We don't get to choose who we love._ But no matter how much Littlefinger or anyone else, who somehow knew about it ridiculed him for it, he knew he had made the right choice. He never had a doubt in his mind.

"I never doubted that I loved her, it's just, is it right?"

"Who decides what is right, Staff? Nobody but yourself. Not me, not your father, not Stannis, and seven hells, not even the High Septon. Only _you,_ " Renly managed to say, "Do you think it is wrong to love her?"

"I hardly know what love is, but no, I don't,"

"Then do what you think is right for your love. Gods, that poor girl would've been miserable at the hands of your brother, and gods know who else," Renly mustered. Stafford looked at him brought himself up by his axe, picking up some pelt he had.

"Alright, everyone! Let's continue the HUNT!" Robert said with a much more apparent slur in his voice.

"Your grace, haven't you drunk too much? Shouldn't we just head back before you get hurt?" Renly heard Ser Barristan say. The old man was right, if Robert hunted like this he could get seriously hurt or worse. Stafford and Renly both knew Robert wouldn't listen. He would just keep on going with the hunt.

"Damn it! We keep going, no stopping will happen till we kill as many game as I damn well please!" He took another swig of the wine from his wineskin. Stafford shook his head, and helped Renly up from where he was seated. _The hunt continues_.

The hunt went on fairly normally, until his brother had stumbled upon a giant wild boar, that he wanted to slay by his own hand. He refused help from Ser Barristan and others in order to take it down.

"By the seven, I will bring that boar down by my own might! Then we will bring it back and feast!" Robert stated. Stafford and Ser Barristan tried to talk him out of it, but Renly saw that Robert was going to go toe-to-toe with the giant boar anyway.

And so his brother lined up against the boar as it noticed Robert. Robert had a lugged boar spear, ready and primed to thrust into the beast's skull. He smiled as he taunted the boar to make it charge. The boar dug it's legs deep into the ground and began to get into its aggressive stance. Robert seemed like he was wobbily, and had absolutely no focus at all while he tried to draw the beast to him to charge. _Robert, what are you doing? Better stay focused or things could go bad. That beast looks almost as hungry for blood as Joffrey is._ Then as expected, the beast began its charge toward the king. Everyone in the hunting party had arranged a crude, four-man shield wall to make sure it didn't get out of the King's reach. Joffrey tried flanking the beast while Renly, Stafford, Barristan, and Lancel gathered around. Robert still looked about as serious as Stafford during a history lesson with Grand Maester Pycelle. _Keep your head in the damn fight, brother. Keep it or lose it._ Robert shoved past the wall of his men, and rushed to meet the beast right when it lowered its tusk.

The king thrust the spear trying to hit his mark. He lunged a bit too far forward, and that was one of the biggest mistakes he could ever make. He saw Stafford, Barristan, and even Joffrey grow wide-eyed at this point. _It was at this point Robert knew: He had fucked up._

The beast had all the momentum with him as the spear went right through the exposed part of the King's armor, because of the angle Robert had missed his thrust with. The king's roar would make even the most experienced soldier or man of the watch shudder. Stafford ran to try to get the boar off his father, and Joffrey had his crossbow aimed at it. But right as he was being gored down to the ground, Robert managed to stab the boar right at the sweetspot down its skull. He continued twisting his spear like a survivalist trying to start a fire till the boar began twitching, stilled, and went silent. Stafford arrived, but the boar was dead. Joffrey even shot it with a few bolts, over and over, his mouth agape and tears in his eyes. The axe Stafford had was also buried in its midsection. Robert managed to push off the boar, but once it was pushed off, Renly could see it had literally ripped Robert from his his collarbone to his groin. The King's guts were draped around the boar's tusks like a roast spit.

"F-father!?" Stafford yelled as he knelt beside Renly's wounded brother, his shaky voice cracking. And in a truly rare instance, the young stag wept. It was rare to see someone like Stafford cry, and it took either a worthy opponent or a traumatizing event to reduce Stafford to tears. _What in the seven hells was Robert thinking? What wasn't he thinking?_

"I got him good, didn't I Staff? Right down the midline. So did he." Robert managed to croak, his rattled breaths struggling to smile and laugh to comfort his son.

"M'Lord… your body," Ser Barristan managed to say.

"Get some help, hurry, we may be able help him more in the keep," Stafford spun wildly at the hunting party, tears in his eyes and his father's blood covering his doublet, "What in the seven hells are you all doing there standing and staring? Get some damn help for your king!"

"Always…" Robert coughed, "worrying about your old man aren't we?" Everyone started to help Robert up, and Renly was worried of what might happen if Robert didn't survive this. _Stafford, you better be prepared if the worse comes to pass, because it would take a smite from the Gods themselves for me to let Joffrey become king_.

* * *

 _Stafford (Again)_

 _Despair_. That is the only word that could describe what Stafford Baratheon felt as this very moment. Earlier in the day, they had been hunting just outside King's Landing. With great haste, they managed to bring his father back to the Red Keep. The king had spoken to someone to send word for Lord Stark, but he had addressed everyone as a group before he did so. Grand Maester Pycelle told them that there was nothing they could do. The wounds were too atrocious, and Robert suffered terribly. Stafford could not believe what was going on, to think that he could lose his father. The man he hunted with, the man that although not always present in his life, but was his inspiration. Some thoughts plagued Stafford's mind. What was to happen to the kingdom without him? The Seven Kingdoms were already ablaze, and his father's death was like trying to stop a fire by smothering it in dry kindling. Now they were in a room, with Ser Barristan guarding the entrance.

"Can you leave Stafford and I for a moment. I must talk with my son. Joff, stay outside, I will also speak to you privately next," The king instructed with the croak. Stafford stayed where he sat, and the others left the room. Joffrey was the last to leave. His green eyes were red and raw from all his tears, and with one last look, he walked out the room, his face buried in his hands. It was his father, King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, and his second son Stafford Baratheon left in the room.

"I'm proud of the man you have become, Stafford. I know today's your sixteenth nameday, and I know this is not what you wanted. Every time I look at you, I see myself from back before the damned Targaryen took everything I had from me," The king stated.

"Father-I...have to tell you something as well. It might not be something you would be proud of but…"

"Do you love her?" His father asked him unexpectedly. Stafford turned his head to the side a little.

"Who?"

"Sansa Stark, Ned's eldest, and Joffrey's betrothed. I know that is what you are about to tell me. You love her. But after all you've done, do you really mean those words?"

"I'm ashamed to admit it, but yes, so much, that it burns me inside. I broke my vow to Arya, her family, and to all the Gods, because of how much I do," _The things we do for love._

"Then there is nothing to be ashamed of. Stafford, when you first decided to display your affections for her, I will not lie, I thought I saw that bastard Rhaegar in you. I hated it, I wondered what I did to deserve it, but I understand better now. You loved her like I did Lyanna, and hopefully your story will end better than mine," His father told him, "But remember this Stafford: You have your own fate in your hands. You are not Robert Baratheon, and She is not Lyanna Stark. You story does not have to end like mine. Take care of her, Stafford, even though I cannot change all that you've done. It will be up to Ned once I am gone to convince Joffrey not marry her. Love always finds a way though, even if it hurts sometimes."

"Father-Don't say that, there's still hope. You still live,"

"There is no more hope, son. I hope you remember me as I was, not as I am. Now go, there is no use pitying the dead. They're the lucky ones." The king managed to say weakly, giving a feeble laugh that rattled his chest. Stafford tried to protest, but he knew there was no use. Still in the same half plate armor he was in during the hunt, Stafford wiping the tears from his eyes. He opened the door and Joffrey went into his father's final room. As he turned at his brother, Joffrey looked back. Tears filled both their eyes, and their chests shook as they tried to choke down their sobs. The two pressed on, Stafford turning away without another word.

Stafford didn't know how much wine, ale or whatever else he could find, he had drunk. There were now tankards and bottles of empty spirits littering his room. He still held a full tankard of wine in his hands, and his hands were now trembling with the amount he had already drunk. His mother had tried coming in earlier, but she was not even able to talk to Stafford. No one was, not even Renly. But Renly left as soon as he saw the tankards, and he simply told him they would speak tomorrow or even sooner when he was ready. So much for his sixteenth nameday. What in the seven hells was going to make him feel better?

He heard a knock on the door. _Who in the seven hells is bothering me at this hour. The Stranger? Came a little too late, old friend._

"Alright, who goes the-r-e," He managed to say with a few hiccups here and there. His voice had degenerated into a hoarse slur, "Doors open, and if even if you're that thrice-damned Lyn Corbay, you are free to come on inside. I don't have much left, so make it quick." The door opened, and Stafford looked up.

It wasn't Renly, his mother, Ser Barristan, or even somehow Stannis. Sansa was there, he half expected her to be in Winterfell by now, safe from all that was happening.

"By the gods, what happened here? Stafford? What are you doing to yourself?"

"Well my father just died, so I might as well drink a little to cheer myself up," Stafford managed to say. Sansa went to him and snatched the half full tankard of wine from his lips, and Stafford didn't have the capacity or the want to take it back, "Sansa, that's not very nice."

"Get a hold of yourself, Stafford. I'm not losing you too,"

"Well isn't that sweet of you. Tell me, have you lost your father yet?" Stafford said more viciously than he had intended, attempting to stand before his legs collapsed beneath him, wobbling back and forth on one knee he managed to raise himself with.

"You are not your father, Stafford. I won't let you become him," She got on to her knees to meet his face, dragging him up. She managed to get close to him and turn his face with her hands, "Please, Stafford, just stop this." Stafford, didn't look like himself, and it seemed his whole demeanor changed suddenly. Stafford and Sansa leaned in almost in unison, and they both shared a moment of harmony, with what little wits Stafford had left. Stafford felt his sorrows almost fade for a moment. It was just her that replaced the thoughts of his mind. He didn't even care if Joffrey came in to witness this. He didn't have a care in the world.

"By the gods, how many times do I have to walk in on this business? Nevermind that, quick, Stafford take this. This time it isn't a sleeping potion. This should fix you right up," Stafford broke off right after he heard Renly. Renly suddenly interrupted the moment, and forced a vial of liquid down his throat. He was too wobbly to resist. This time for some reason, Stafford felt invigorated, and all the drunkenness managed to escape him.

"Renly, how the hell did you manage to make a potion without a side effect?"

"Maester Pycelle helped me with this one. Now, I really need to speak with you. Lord Stark has told me some intriguing information that you have to know, and I have little plan that _must_ be carried out.


	24. AGOT Odyn IV

**A/N: Long time no see readers, I haven't put anything out in a while, because I decided to take this week off for personal reasons. Thank you for you neverending patience, and I apologize if this chapter is a little** _ **rough**_ **around the edges. The chapter starts** _ **a little before the end of the last chapter**_ **, and it is during the day of the hunt that killed King Robert. We find out Eddard Stark's less than favorable view of Stafford right now, and a POV from someone that is NOT a Stark or a Baratheon to mix things up. I decided to throw our old friend Odyn Sand, the bastard Dornishman this time. Some of the convos seem to messy, and bear with me in this as this is me trying to break some writers block, as many of my plans indicate that the story should have hit the war long before this. The next chapter will also be a bit of time skip, because it fast forwards to after Eddard is captured, and the chapter after that will be Arya's POV of the execution. Afterwards, we will take a bit of break in the Seven Kingdoms to check in on our favorite mercenary, Ellion, who has been in limbo for about two to three months now.. Stafford Baratheon will receive his next POV, after that when he makes his daring escape from King's Landing. All of this and more will happen this week, as a reward for the patience given by the readers. I didn't really think this chapter was very good, but I tried making a little bridge chapter before the content really escalates after Eddard is captured. (Note I really do not know how much review replies I have slacked on so if I missed you, please let me know)**

 **Golden Dragon King: I didn't like Joffrey very much either, and all of me really hated him more after all his actions in the books. Hopefully, you stick around and read the war segment as it gets really good and I devoted a lot of time planning it. Thank you for your review.**

 **Both Unidentified Guests: As much as it hurt me to hurt Arya in that way, I really had to make a choice and the decision would hurt one of them regardless. Thank you for your review.**

 **A Fellow Writer: If you had been reading previous author's notes, you would have found out that the pairing was part of a challenge I set for myself. The challenge was to make myself not know the pairing I was writing about, so it was either a poll for popular opinion or putting their names in a hat right at the decision and picking. Lord Stark's fate is a spoiler and I'm not revealing that, but he isn't too pleased with Stafford's decision. Thank you for your review.**

 **Vulcran: Thank you for your input, and I'll get back to you on your messages soon, been very busy and haven't even noticed how many PMs I missed in the inbox.**

 **Sarcasm Brightens my Day: Well, the story was left up to a random poll so *technically* I as the writer didn't sideline her, I merely acted as a** _ **tool**_ **for the sidelining. Anyway thank you for your review and your kind regards.**

 **Enjoy and see y'all tomorrow**

 _Odyn_

"I'm just stating the possibilities, my prince-"

"How _dare_ you suggest that!" Stafford suddenly roared, "My own flesh and blood... to commit such VILE crimes?" Stafford was furious, his sapphire-blue eyes smoldering with rage while raw from crying. His gold silk cloak, clasped with an iron stag, shimmered in the afternoon light, above his onyx doublet. The two sat on stone steps, only hours past a wild boar fatally goring King Robert, on the hunt of Prince Stafford's sixteenth nameday.

"I know she's your mother, but these Lannisters-"

"My mother loved my father. They may have not been as close as I wanted them to be, but for her to murder him? I ought to have you arrested for treason." The prince took another swig of wine from his flask, trying to blink out what remained of his tears. Odyn could only pray that he would never have to suffer the death of his own father. Or someone accusing whoever his mother was of his father's murder. But the suspicion was too much for him to bear.

"Think about it, my prince. Almost all of your father's closest allies have died or persecuted severely. The Kingslayer ambushed Lord Eddard, what remained of the Arryns have fled to the Vale in what I've heard is an unshakeable fear, the Starks are infighting thanks to your brother, and as you've told me, your betrothed had told you of people plotting against the Iron Throne in the catacombs. And on top of all of this, your father was slain in hunting conditions he's mastered. He's a hard drinker, and after mastering the art of hunting while drunk, as you say he is, why die now?" Odyn paused briefly, drew a flask of his own, and took a light sip. He hoped to keep from being drunk, and wanted to provide support for the prince a much as he could.

"And if we are on the subject of drink, that bedraggled squire Lancel kept on chugging your father's flask down his throat. That fool should've known he's been giving something deviant from the usual amount or drink if Robert actually manages to slip up on routine hunting behavior. From what I've heard, it takes some serious _intentional_ shit to satisfy your father's thirst for drink or physical vigor while drunk. Again I must ask, _how? And why mess up now?_ "

"My uncle, Renly is still here, alive and well. And so is Stannis, so I don't know what in seven hells has gotten into you. It must have been some coincidence. My family wouldn't do shit like this. We haven't always gotten along, but we don't _murder_ each other."

Odyn shrugged heavily. There was no changing the resolve of the prince. His reason was impaired by a passionate, bleeding heart, and it was no better when grief filled his heart. _Petitioning this prince is like putting a mountain on trial,_ he thought, _an utterly irreconcilable venture._ Beside him the prince lapsed into silence yet again.

"My prince, you need to listen to-"

"Leave me to my grief, _bastard._ First you came to comfort me, and now you spit venom at the Lannister name. What the fuck do you want with me?" The prince exploded, throwing his flask to the ground, and avoiding Odyn's eyes.

Slowly, after his hands covered his tired face, he rose from the silence and turned to Odyn Sand. "Sorry, I didn't mean to call you that. I was just…"

"It's no problem, Stafford. It was a bad idea to pursue this at such a bad time."

Stafford had paused, picking up his flask. After downing another deep gulp, he began to speak again.

"Can we stop… Whatever _this_ is? This paranoia serves nothing but to hurt a fragile situation. I do not deny that the people of this court are capable of killing. Hell, I can kill you right now, if I was angrier than I was sad. But the motives, t-they just don't make sense. Why would anyone of my blood plot to kill my father and ruin his friends? What reason would they have to orchestrate all of this, huh?"

Odyn was quiet. It was true, though every condition aligned for a plot of this sort, no motives he was aware of or thought of already fit. He felt helpless. Unable to console his friend or avenge his father's memory, the bastard of Dorne's talk with the prince felt even more hollow than Petyr Baelish's smiles.

"Exactly. You see what I mean. Nothing of this makes any sense. _Nothing_ makes any sense at all. This was supposed to be another year to celebrate life, not the rot of another casket being laid into the crypts. My father…" The prince wiped his eyes and looked into the sky. _If her ever died I'd scourge the heavens to get my father back._ Stafford he knew, felt much of the same. "It should've been me, Odyn. It should've been me. I should've protected him while I still had the fucking chance. But I didn't. And now he's gone, I'll never see him again. He was a great man. I'm… what's left."

"He's not gone. He lives on within you, and the burning passion of your heart. A man can die, but the legacy he builds lives on. _You_ , my prince, are not his leftover. You are his _legacy_." Odyn fixed his black eyes into Stafford's. The prince's reddened eyes stared back as they both went silent.

"All men must die, but not all men live. And your father _lived_. And _you_ will live, Stafford. We're all legacies in the end. Let's leave behind a good one."

For a moment, Odyn could see the faint hint of a smile grace the prince's face, and quickly get subdued beneath rapid gulps of wine. "It'll be hard, but I'll give it my all and beyond. My father casts a long shadow," He declared, "And my brother and King Joffrey has much to live up to."

The thought had made Odyn cringe internally, remembering the clusterfuck of the after-tourney party. Stafford broke two engagements and the oaths he made with the Starks to protect Arya for her own sister. Had Odyn arrived earlier and witnessed Joffrey's rebuttal, he would've had to request another red blanket from the Lannisters to present his body to the court. For how badly Prince Stafford mess up foreign relations with the Starks, there was no right for his moronic brother to fuck it up out of sympathy for Stafford, Odyn withheld his feelings on the matter. "I pray to the Seven that your brother can fill his father's throne. I can only imagine the machinations of those who seek to rob his throne." _And weep with joy._

Stafford paused worriedly, his eyes turning grimmer than Lord Stark's. A few moments later, Stafford downed a bigger gulp of wine, the fear in his eyes unrelenting. "My prince, what exactly have you done that night?"

"Odyn, I fear I've made a terrible mistake.

"Would you mind explaining what you have done that night to upset your royal family?"

Stafford rose, and Odyn got up from his seat. "Walk with me. This'll be a long talk."

A few corridors away from the King's death chamber and a whole half hour later, Odyn listened, utterly dumbfounded by the error of the Prince. His own drunkenness had led to vast errors and lapses in his own judgement, and Odyn believed in being open about his emotions. But what Stafford and Joffrey had done to the Stark girls was beyond anything he thought he was capable of messing up.

"So he _grabbed her,_ and began to… Violate her."

"What in SEVEN HELLS was he _thinking?"_ Odyn's fists clenched so hard he felt blood flow from his palms. At least Stafford and Sansa both agreed to what they did, but what Joffrey had forced upon Arya had sickened the Dornish bastard. The sun was hanging low and lazily in the sky, in the late afternoon. "Stafford, if I were you I'd-"

"Don't, Odyn. Remember? Eyes everywhere. No one with their wits intact and their impulses checked will start a fucking insurrection against the king like this!"

"Where were _your_ wits and checked impulses when you stole your brother's girl in a fit of passion?"

"I didn't _steal_ her! She came to me willingly."

"Try telling that to your brother."

"You know that this shit is not as simple as that, you fool! I would've if it were." Stafford kept his voice lowered, still indignant.

"You had a chance to keep the betrothal to Arya! I fully understand that you love Sansa, and since there's no going back I support your endeavours as much as much as I can, but to tear apart the Seven Kingdoms? Disgrace her family? Break your oaths?"

"I was already given that talk, Odyn."

"Clearly not enough."

"What was _that_? I'm damned sure that _YOU_ of all people are not lecturing me about thinking with the _right head_!"

Odyn went quiet. _Damn it._ "You're not wrong, my Prince. A valid point. But were you in the right to do such a thing? I don't think either of us can answer that. The Gods can only imagine how badly you've fucked up."

"So do you support me or not, Odyn?"

"Yes. And I know I'm not the one to lecture someone on the dangers of passion. But please, for your sake and for the Kingdoms' sake, please think this shit through _before_ the stability of this fragile situation in King's Landing collapses. Pray tell, do you have anybody else in King's Landing who supports you and who you know will protect you? Because with the oncoming shitstorm, we're going to need them."

Stafford and Odyn's feet echoed in the vast hallways of the Red Keep. Save for a few soldiers on high alert, the mourners at King Robert's private chamber, and din of a small feast a the great hall, their words resounded across the empty stones and red walls. "I have my uncles Renly and Stannis. I've always been good with Renly."

"We may need him soon, if- no, when this situation and its conspirators grows out of control. But are you really sure that you can tru-"

"Stop doubting them. We can trust them, simple as that. No questions asked, Odyn, and I mean it."

"As you say, Prince Stafford." The two disgruntled and weary young men soon entered the great hall, and sat down at two open seats at one of the long tables. They sat in silence for a while, Odyn hoping a change in this uncomfortable topic. Despite the tables being lined with a good amount of food for the few dining there, Odyn could see the emptiness in Stafford. _All this good food, and not even he could stomach it._ He knew the Prince would have to be greatly saddened to be driven to abstaining from eating. And finally, after an awkward moment of loneliness in a room full of people, Stafford spoke up.

"On a different note, I never got to ask: How did you fare after the tourney?"

Odyn felt shaken from his silence, albeit gratefully. He let out a deep breath quietly, his hopes for a change in the conversation to begin being answered.

"After I was carted off the field-the Mountain himself threw me to the ground-I remained awake and well. My armor cushioned the impact, and my wounded belly had already recovered a good amount from when this Karl Tanner as I recalled assaulted me. It hurt, but in the end, I only had a few bruises, some minor thirst, a couple of sprained fingers, and a headache the maesters at the tent managed to dull. So considering what had happened to me and the people I have fought, I'm doing pretty well. And sorry, I almost forgot: Good fight." Odyn held out his hand across the table to Stafford. He shook it firmly in return.

"As to you."

"So now I wonder, if your maesters were at the Red Keep, who's tent did you find refuge in if not the infirmary?"

Odyn himself smiled at the memory. "I recall that it was decorated with the green and gold of Highgarden, my Prince. Lady Margaery and her brother Loras themselves allowed me to be brought inside."

Stafford chuckled quietly, taking another swig of his wine. "What happened?"

"After my guards explained that we lacked a tent or any maesters on hand to treat and examine my injuries, they offered their help."

"Making friends, aren't we?"

"I suppose so. Margaery was the one who convinced Loras to allow me in. And while he did help, Margaery was the one helping the maesters check me for injury. Helped them and my guards doff my armor. Don't know what the seven hells they'd want with a Bastard of a noble house theirs' had feuded with since time immemorial. I wonder what she sees in me. Doubt I'm worthy of their company."

"Are you _complaining?_ "

"Hells no, Stafford. _Hells no._ "

"I can tell you've got something for her, Odyn," He observed before another swig of wine, "Did you two talk after you were recuperated from your injuries?"

 _We had, in fact._ About an hour or so before much of the people had left the tourney grounds, Loras allowed Margaery and Odyn to stay in their tent. He recalled some business he had to settle with a nobleman, and he said he'd back in about an hour. After he doffed his armor save for a shirt of mail beneath his gambeson, he left the tent.

As she was helping some of her servants pack their baggage to leave the Crownlands, Odyn had began to help without being prompted. While they packed their bags, they began to talk to one another.

* * *

" _Odyn, are you sure you're alright? That was a hard fall." She brushed her hair out from her eyes as she handed a bag to a few other servants, each heading out the tent. Her pale brown hair shone in the lamplight of the Tyrell pavilion. There was hint of stress in her doe-like eyes and a rawness in her nervous voice._

 _He laughed mirthlessly, hefting a bag over his back. "Not as hard as when I fell for you."_

" _Shut your face, you bastard. I have no time for your japes."_ Ouch. _Those words stung more than even Gregor Clegane's headbutts. Odyn bristled at the remark, and braced for more._

" _This is_ not _funny. Not even close. You could've died fighting the Mountain, and you know it. Why did you fight him?"_

 _The bastard stopped laughing, and returned with a hardness in his voice. "You damn well_ know _what that monster has done to my father. What he has done to Elia. What he has done to_ my family." _He handed her bags to a nearby servant._

" _Has the insanity of dying for our forefathers' mistakes and grudges ever crossed your mind? We are not our parents. And you are not Oberyn Martell." She spit back with a harshness in her weary voice that gave even Odyn pause._ A rose is not without its thorns.

 _She sighed tiredly, coughing from her sore throat. "We have a chance to leave this world a better place than how they left it. Wasting our lives to rehearse the wars of our fathers should be the last of your priorities." Pushing strands of her hair from her face, she continued to pack her bags. The Tyrells were to leave at first light, the day after the tourney. Neither of them told Odyn where they're heading to, so he just assumed they were coming back to Highgarden._

 _The bastard groaned, rolling up another banner of House Tyrell carefully. His bronze lamellar glinted in the dimming lights of the tent, and his sword was at his side._

" _You can be so much_ more _to this world than another Oberyn Martell. This world is rife with warriors, and any fool can be a 'hero', but what we really need are good men. People who stand up for what they believe in. Those who want to break this cycle, not to spin it further around. The ones who aren't afraid to be the better person."_

" _In a world like this, even is enough. The world could be worse."_

" _The world could be_ better, _Odyn. Too bad it's filled with people like you."_

 _A quiet fell upon the whole tent and all the retainers, as if razorblades were held at their throats. Odyn froze._ You had one job. One fucking job. _Choosing his next words carefully, the bastard of Sunspear spoke._

" _All I want of this life is to give the people of Westeros a world that doesn't need people like_ me _. But there are others out there. Those who seek to poison and destroy the people, to corrupt their hearts and drown them in depravity. For your world to work, people like me must fight the good fight until we are no longer needed. And sadly, the world has and will always need people like me. It's how things are."_

" _But does it have to be?" She looked at him with her brown eyes, like wells of molten bronze. "Too many people have lived and died seeing the world as it is, not as it should be. And I don't want you to be among the forgotten dead, Odyn. You and I, we're made for so much more than names on a grave. Never forget that."_

 _Odyn, handing some of the last bags to her servants, looked at the Lady of Highgarden. There was this passion in her, to help and protect and save. Whoever gets her love in the end certainly is lucky. "I won't. Because death isn't a matter of if. It's a matter of how. Better to burn out than fade away, am I right?"_

" _When I die, they'll see the flames from all around." Margaery laughed gently._

" _Better later rather than sooner, Margaery. There's so much more to do."_

* * *

"We talked a fair bit, I guess. Shortly after a long conversation, Loras came back from whoever he was talking to and demanded a private audience with his sister. He looked nervous. A bit on edge. Rambling about plans or such. So me and Margaery said our farewells, and my forces left the tent. Never saw her again after tha-"

"Wait a second. What was Loras talking about?" Stafford nearly lept from his seat at the mention of Loras' rambling.

"It was a bit indistinct, just muttering under his breath. His sister started to look concerned."

"Did you manage to hear any words he may have been saying?" This strange light filled Stafford's once weary eyes at once.

"My ears may have been fucking with me, but I swear I could make out the words 'heir' and 'Storm's End'. Whatever the hell he meant is beyond me."

The prince's eyes widened. "This is an… interesting turn of events. I was unaware he made the deal already…"

"What do you mean by that, my prince?"

"It doesn't concern you. Not yet, at least."

"As you say, Stafford."

Between speaking with Odyn, Stafford often looked nervously at the tables of Stark bannermen to look at Sansa. He was most likely looking out for Arya. _His is the fury, but there is no fury like a pissed off ex._

"I have a proposition to make for you, Odyn. You need to follow me right now." The two got up from their seats and began talking in the hallway outside the hall, only after Stafford glanced and examined the privacy of the spot.

"What is it that you wanted to discuss, Stafford?"

The prince sighed heavily and began to talk. "My uncle Stannis, he's developed this utterly… outrageous theory. I don't want to believe it, but after all the evidence, it's starting to make sense."

"What theory?"

"He believes that my sister and brothers are not of my father's blood. That they're not Baratheons."

The idea left Odyn Sand distressed. "Of what blood are they then?"

Stafford came in close, and whispered as soft as he can: "My uncle. Jaime Lannister."

At first, Odyn reacted with amusement and a bit of outrage, but as he remembered the tourney and Joffrey's temperament, his blonde hair and green eyes, and how different from Stafford and his "father" he was, his stomach turned sick.

"By the Gods… That means your mother has been committing incest with your uncle. She and Jaime have turned the royal family into an inbred cuckold."

"That's why I refused to believe your theories. Stannis's ideas. They imply the Lannisters have taken the Iron Throne. That my mother betrayed my father and all the Seven Kingdoms, for a mad dash of power."

Odyn stood there, agape. He had no words for what abominations the Queen and her brother have been making. _Come to think about it, it makes a lot of sense._

"Reminds me of Baelor." Odyn managed to croak.

"I'm sorry?"

"Baelor Breakspear. Son of King Daeron the second and Mariah Martell. He was their trueborn son, but looked more Martell than Targaryen. Didn't stop the Blackfyres and political enemies to start propaganda to weaken his claim to the throne. How are we to be sure that Stannis is not trying to do the same?"

"Exactly. That is why I'm asking you an important task. You must find proof to this claim, or a lack of it, and report back to me and Renly. We cannot act out on these suspicions without proof lest we make Blackfyres of ourselves."

Odyn nodded, his stomach still queasy and his mind dazed at the revelation. "I will do my best to find proof of these claims. You have any ideas on where to start?"

"I have overheard from my uncle Renly that Ned Stark is investigating similar claims and has found evidence concerning them during his main investigation of Jon Arryn's death. Or murder, now that he has also uncovered proof of my mother's treachery."

"I'll start with him then."

"That would be the best. I saw him leaving Robert's chamber with this big book after his last words with him were exchanged. Most likely a book borrowed from Maester Pycelle. If you move fast, you can still make it to them. Lord Stark's leg is still injured badly, and he walks slower."

"This is a good start. I will make my wa-"

"YOU BITCH. YOU BITCH!" The sudden screams and shrills made Stafford jump back, almost tripping. Recovering from his shock, he ran into the great hall, followed by Odyn. There were sounds of struggle and fighting.

"Oh great, I sure hope it isn't what I think it is," He muttered under his breath.

Bursting into the great hall, the two men came upon the sight of Arya Stark violently slapping down Sansa at the far side of the room, and her sister attempting to shield herself from her blows. Multiple guards soon followed to try and prt Arya off her sister.

"You ruined _everything!"_ Arya screamed as she continued wailing on her sister, who began weeping while covering herself. "I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATEYOUIHATEYOU…"

"Good grief… Arya, what are YOU DOING? Get off her!" Stafford shoved multiple people aside, and did his best to separate the two from one another. Arya responded by a flurry of punches across his face that made Odyn step back. Blood and fury ruled her grey eyes. People were soon crowding around the scene from all over the hall, afraid.

Stafford, a black eye and a bloody nose, turned to Odyn regretfully. "We'll talk later, Odyn. I'll settle this. Make haste to Lord Eddard-" Another blow to his stomach knocked the wind out of him, ending their conversation.

Gratefully, Odyn ran through the crowd and out of the hall. Screams, jeers, and Stafford's shouts echoed behind him. _Keep moving forward, just keep running…_

A few hallways away, a couple flights of stairs, and after what seemed like no time at all, he found himself almost knocking into a grim, grey-eyed looking fellow as he left Grand Maester Pycelle's office. Heavily muscled and tall, Ned walked with a limp, and leaned on a wooden cane. Odyn's own legs felt sore after breaking into a sudden sprint, and his lungs were frantic for a breath.

"Odyn Sand of Sunspear. I haven't seen you in a while. How is King's Landing serving you?"

"Better. Without my maesters and guards confining me to the keep after my adventures," He said hoarsely, "it would be heavenly."

"I'm glad to hear you're safe now. Tensions with Dorne have been abated for the most part. Your father is furious, but luckily Doran Martell managed to resolve the situation effectively before things got out of control. Is there anything you wanted to tell me?"

"Well, I just ran to here from the great hall."

"And why is that?"

"Your daughters are fighting. Again, according to Stafford Bara-"

"EXCUSE ME? Good Gods, that boy is always undermining the stability of _my daughters!_ I ought to tea- Grrrrrh!" Brusquely shoving aside Odyn with great shock and anger, Ned made his way to the great hall as quickly as he could, stumbling down the stairs.

 _Gods save these Starks._ Dusting his shoulders, he strode into Pycelle office. Upon entering he saw a bald old man, dressed in red velvet robes and gold finery, beneath a long, snowy beard. The man sat at a table surrounded by bookshelves. Upon his cluttered desk of papers, letters, and records, was a massive, leather-bound tome.

"Odyn! You're looking well, considering all the injuries you've managed suffer this past month. How do you fare?" His voice was high, thin, and weary.

"I feel just fine. A couple of bruises, but my and the Tyrells' maesters have treated most of my other injuries."

"That's good to hear. No more tensions with the Martells apparently. That much Lord Stark and I discussed."

"Speaking of Lord Stark, I just met him outside. Why'd he come here?"

Pycelle shifted in his seat, moving some papers around across his desk to see Odyn better. "He came here to return this book he had borrowed from me. Why he wanted suffer such tedious reading from a book written so long ago is beyond me. It's only been updated at the Citadel and sent to the Red Keep recently."

"Why'd he borrow it then?"

"He was investigating… private matters I cannot discuss with anyone outside the council. Strictly confidential, you must understand." _You have no idea._

"Has anyone else taken an interest to the book?"

"Jon Arryn, former Hand of the King. He began reading it shortly before illness took him."

 _Lord Stark must've been following whatever Jon Arryn was investigating before his... sickness took him._

"Well, you can add me to the list. May I borrow this book from you, Grand Maester Pycelle?"

Odyn could see a subtle twitch in Pycelle's eyes as he motioned a hand to the book, and a brief darkening of his expression. Tension filled the sunlight room, and the dusk sky was bathing the room in golden-orange light.

"Sure, you may borrow this book. I have no idea why people have taken such an interest in the book. Why have you?" He asked albeit accusingly.

"Some light reading. Something to do in my confinement after my injuries."

Pycelle shrugged and shifted in his seat. "Alright then. If you've got any further inquiries, medical issues or need for books, you know where to go. Stay safe, Odyn Sand."

"I bid you farewell, Grand Maester." Odyn picked up the musty book from Pycelle's desk, turned around, and walked outside. He could feel the old man's beady eyes following him as he exited the office. _What are you hiding, Grand Maester?_

As he was walking down the Red Keep's halls, he read the book's cover. It was _The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children,_ written by Maester Malleon. It smelled of age, weathered parchment, dust and old leather. He took great care of turning the pages, and was very cautious when handling the book. Upon hearing a sudden clamber of footsteps, he closed the book and headed to the sound.

Two hallways ahead one staircase down, he saw multiple soldiers of House Stark dressed in furs and ringmail marching down the halls, in the direction of the great hall. _I wonder, is the Hand's office still guarded?_

The Tower of the hand was only a short walk away. All the while, multiple men-at-arms of House Stark were swarming away from it. The situation at the great hall between Stafford and the Stark sisters must've escalated in his absence. _Perfect distraction._

Soon enough, he came upon an unguarded doorway to the Tower of the Hand. Without a guard in sight, Odyn began to pick the lock. His book in the crook of his arm, he steadily unlocked the door. It was easier than he had expected, and though it provided some resistance, it was no match for him. Upon the last click of the lock, he opened the door and began his ascent to Ned Stark's quarters.

After a brief climb, he found himself in a long room with a high-vaulted ceiling. The bench space could easily fit two hundred. Walking past the table, he soon made it to the private audience chamber. The soft Myrish carpet muffled the sound of his feet, and the golden light of the sunset shone through already yellowed curtains over tall windows. Inside the chamber, Odyn saw a table surrounded with yellow-stained windows, the Myrish rugs beneath it steadily climbing in luxury, and ornate tapestries hanging from the walls in golden thread.

On the table was a simple, undecorated book, filled with sheafs of papers. Reaching over to the desk and opening the book, he was greeted by the scrawlings of Ned Stark. In it, was a brief summation of the days he was Hand. Skimming through, the investigation into Jon Arryn's death was a prominent theme. _Main suspicion of murder beginning a few weeks ago. Seems to be focusing on observations drawn from this book of lineages._ Odyn's eyes grew wide. Gendry was one of Robert's many bastards, all having the Baratheon coloration. _But Joffrey lacked such a coloration…_

On top of all that, the last recorded entry that caught Odyn's eyes explained Ned Stark confronting Cersei with those suspicions a day before, and readying a force with Janos Slynt and Renly to arrest them on the morrow? Ned had alerted the Lannisters of his plot beforehand…

He grabbed both the books and fled the tower, running to the dungeons, where Stafford had asked him to meet. Eventually, he burst through the doors of his chambers, Renly talking to Stafford.

"Odyn, have you got the information?"

"That, and so. Much. More."

 _I wish the Lannisters good fortune in the wars to come._ With a smile on his face, Odyn began to present the facts. "So, here's the situation…"


	25. AGOT Sansa IV

**A/N: Thank you all for tuning in on the next chapter of Our's is the Fury. This chapter is a timeskip, as Eddard is captured off page, and a flashback will show what happened when Janos Slynt and the guard turns on him. Renly is also gone, and other things had happened from Odyn's explanations. These will be addressed further in the next few chapters. Today is kind of an experimental chapter with these types of timeskips if they work with the continuity. Honestly this the best time to do it as I am very hungry for war. We will begin the war after Arya's execution POV as thing change very quickly after that. Thank you for your continued support and I'll be coming back at you, Wednesday.**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Sansa_

Of all the mistakes in her life, this one seemed to sting the most in her heart. Her selfishness had caused great pain and sorrow to her, and now her father had been captured by those she now saw as an enemy. She had watched as her own father was captured, and betrayed by the city watch, and Lord Baelish. Stafford tried to protect him, but he ended up taking a heavy blow from the back of a pommel from Joffrey's hound. Arya was also gone, and as soon as she realized it, she had practically been taken prisoner in the Landing. This is what you wanted right? Now, you don't have to go back to Winterfell. The sick masochistic voice in her mind told her. To think that she had once thought she loved Joffrey after all that he had done, now. She had guardsmen watching her move now, and she had been forced to write letters back to her family reassuring that everything was alright, even though they were clearly lies. She wondered why Stafford hadn't rode off with Renly when he strode into the throne room, right before the city watch arrested her father. She had been called to attend her 'betrothed', King Joffrey's first court session.

This was the first court session of Joffrey's reign, so Sansa looked about nervously. A line of Lannister house guards stood beneath the western windows, a line of gold cloaked City Watchmen beneath the east. Of smallfolk and commoners, she saw no sign, but under the gallery a cluster of lords great and small milled restlessly. There were no more than twenty, where a hundred had been accustomed to wait upon King Robert.

A herald's voice rang out. "All hail His Grace, Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. All hail his lady mother, Cersei of House Lannister, Queen Regent, Light of the West, and Protector of the Realm."

Ser Barristan Selmy, resplendent in white plate, led them in. Ser Arys Oakheart escorted the queen, while Ser Boros Blount walked beside Joffrey, so six of the Kingsguard were now in the hall, all the White Swords save Jaime Lannister alone. In a different time, and in a different place, she would be breathless. She would see Joffrey, as her golden prince, and the one, who could do her no wrong. But now, that was far from reality, and even now she wondered why she had even told the queen her father's intentions. Her images of what Prince Joffrey was were now clouded by his brother, the person who had swept her off her feet from literally out of nowhere. He was her dream, and losing him seemed unthinkable to her right now. Sometimes inside her, she thought Stafford was just some infatuation she had with tall handsome royal princes. But, something else had told her, they actually shared a connection. And even when Joffrey was a king, he could not be more of a man than his brother. If hadn't had said anything, you would never see Stafford again. But was it really worth putting father into this predicament?

"Grand Maester Pycelle, I command you to read my decrees,"

Pycelle pushed himself to his feet. He was clad in a magnificent robe of thick red velvet, with an ermine collar and shiny gold fastenings. From a drooping sleeve, heavy with gilded scrollwork, he drew a parchment, unrolled it, and began to read a long list of names, commanding each in the name of king and council to present themselves and swear their fealty to Joffrey. Failing that, they would be adjudged traitors, their lands and titles forfeit to the throne.

Among the names were Stannis Baratheon, Renly Baratheon, both of Stafford's uncles, who were not here despite being in King Robert's small council. Both Lord Royces and their sons. Ser Loras Tyrell. Lord Mace Tyrell, his brothers, uncles, sons. The red priest, Thoros of Myr. Lord Beric Dondarrion. Lady Lysa Arryn and her son, the little Lord Robert. Lord Hoster Tully, his brother Ser Brynden, his son Ser Edmure. Lord Jason Mallister. Lord Bryce Caron of the Marches. Lord Tytos Blackwood. Lord Walder Frey and his heir Ser Stevron. Lord Karyl Vance. Lord Jonos Bracken. Lady Sheila Whent. Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne, and all his sons. Before Grand Maester Pycelle could say anything, something unexpected happened.

Some gaunt man emerged from the council with the seal of Renly's personal coat emblazoned on his chest. He wanted to make a statement and the statement he did. He had a look on his face like he was about to go through a battle against a dragon, but he pressed on.

"I stand here for Lord Renly Baratheon. And he has told me a response to your decree of fealty," he began. The entire court looked to him, "Lord Renly will not pledge his fealty to you! Lord Renly asserts that you are not the true heir to the crown!" The entire court began to murmur and some even shouted traitor.

"What is this treason! Bring me his head!"

"We can't just execute people in the court, your grace," Ser Barristan told Joffrey, and he still wouldn't calm down. Sansa did not know whether it was foolishness or bravery that drove this messenger to act, but she certainly admired it.

"The true heir is Stafford of House Baratheon, first of his name. And Lord Renly has told me if you do not abdicate to him at once, he will seize the throne for the prince himself!" The mere mention of Stafford's name in this regard made Sansa's heart skip a beat. Ser Barristan looked at him, and Joffrey now looked like he was going to execute everyone in the court.

"I have had enough of this, guards escort this man out," Joffrey signaled. Immediately ten city watchman dragged the man out. He kept on yelling as he went out.

"Mark my words, Lord Renly and the true king will be at your doorstep, and the true king Stafford will SEIZE what is rightfully his!" he yelled.

"Call for Stafford immediately," The queen stated to someone.

"The prince has instructed me to not bother his training session today, your grace," Ser Barristan told her.

"This is a matter of importance, have someone fetch him," Ser Barristan nodded and signaled for a guardsman to get him.

Grand Maester Pycelle rolled up the list, tucked it up his left sleeve, and pulled another parchment from his right. He cleared his throat and resumed. "In the place of the traitor Eddard Stark, it is the wish of His Grace that Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, take up the office of Hand of the King, to speak with his voice, lead his armies against his enemies, and carry out his royal will. So the king has decreed. The small council consents." Whispers engulfed the room when this was declared.

"It is also the wish of His Grace that his loyal servant, Janos Slynt, Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing, be at once raised to the rank of lord and granted the ancient seat of Harrenhal with all its attendant lands and incomes, and that his sons and grandsons shall hold these honors after him until the end of time," Sansa knew it was clear, this is why the city watch turned on her own father. Sansa glimpsed motion from the corner of her eye as Janos Slynt made his entrance. This time the muttering was louder and angrier. Proud lords whose houses went back thousands of years made way reluctantly for the balding, frog-faced commoner as he marched past.

As Lord Slynt took his place, Grand Maester Pycelle resumed. "Lastly, in these times of treason and turmoil, with our beloved Robert so lately dead, it is the view of the council that the life and safety of King Joffrey is of paramount importance. He looked to the queen.

Cersei stood. "Ser Barristan Selmy stand forth."Ser Barristan had been standing at the foot of the Iron Throne, as still as any statute, but now he went to one knee and bowed his head. "Your Grace, I am yours to command." Before anything else happened someone else stormed into the room. He was in full plate armor, without a helm on. There was a black stag and this time only a stag upon a yellow cloth in front of the plate armor. The plate looked bulky and dated and there was a chain keeping some of his armor together. But the face was of her prince Stafford Baratheon, who wasn't too pleased to be called in.

"What in the seven hells do you want Joffrey?" Stafford viciously stated. The crowd gasped.

"Is that how you address your king? Maybe the watch ought to teach you respect," Janos Slynt threatened Stafford.

"Maybe I can introduce you to the head of my axe, Slynt. Or are you just going to hide behind your men like you did against Lord Stark?"

"You little…" Janos Slynt muttered.

"Order! Stafford we will discuss why you have been called after we deal with the final decree," Cersei stated. "Rise, Ser Barristan," Cersei Lannister said. "You may remove your helm."

"My lady?" Standing, the old knight took off his high white helm, though he did not seem to understand why.

"You have served the realm long and faithfully, good ser, and every man and woman in the Seven Kingdoms owes you thanks. Yet now I fear your service is at an end. It is the

wish of king and council that you lay down your heavy burden."

"My . . . burden? I fear I . . . I do not . . ."

The new-made lord, Janos Slynt, spoke up, his voice heavy and blunt. "Her Grace is trying to tell you that you are relieved as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

The tall, white-haired knight seemed to shrink as he stood there, scarcely breathing. "Your Grace," he said at last. "The Kingsguard is a Sworn Brotherhood. Our vows are taken for life. Only death may relieve the Lord Commander of his sacred trust."

"Whose death, Ser Barristan?" The queen's voice was soft as silk, but her words carried the whole length of the hall. "Yours, or your king's?"

"You let my father die," Joffrey said accusingly from atop the Iron Throne. "You're too old to protect anybody."

"What in the seven hells are you spouting you MOTHERFUCKER!" Stafford boomed to the surprise of everyone in the court, "Joffrey, I have had enough of the disrespect you have shown to one of the most legendary knights of the Kingsguard, you have the HONOR of having under your service. He has served the realm since he was a man of thirty-three and fought and survived the trident. I WILL not stand for this." Everyone in the court started to talk loudly after Stafford's sudden interjection. Stafford's bold statements, and even his straight up

"How dare you address your king in such a disgusting manner! I am KING, here. Know your place, Stafford, Ser Barristan is to be removed from the kingsguard, and there's simply nothing your-"

"Fine, you forced my hand. If you want to remove Ser Barristan from the Kingsguard, fight me yourself Joffrey. I will protect his right to keep his position, and even if you nominate a champion to fight in your stead, I swear he won't surv-" Before Stafford could say anything else, Ser Barristan put hand on the plates of Stafford's armor.

"Stand down, Stafford. There is no need for you to risk yourself over me," Ser Barristan told him, "I was chosen for the White Swords in my twenty-third year. It was all I had ever dreamed, from the moment I first took sword in hand. I gave up all claim to my ancestral keep. The girl I was to wed married my cousin in my place, I had no need of land or sons, my life would be lived for the realm. Ser Gerold Hightower himself heard my vows . . . to ward the king with all my strength... to give my blood for his . . . I fought beside the White Bull and Prince Lewyn of Dorne . . .beside Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Before I served your father, I helped shield King Aerys, and his father Jaehaerys before him . . . three kings . . ."

"And all of them dead," Littlefinger pointed out.

"Your time is done," Cersei Lannister announced. "Joffrey requires men around him who are young and strong. The council has determined that Ser Jaime Lannister will take your place as the Lord Commander of Sworn Brothers of the White Swords."

"The Kingslayer," Ser Barristan said, his voice hard with contempt. "The false knight who profaned his blade with the blood of the king he had sworn to defend."

"Have a care for your words, ser," the queen warned. "You are speaking of our beloved brother, your king's own blood."

Lord Varys spoke, gentler than the others. "We are not unmindful of your service, good ser. Lord Tywin Lannister has generously agreed to grant you a handsome tract of land north of Lannisport, beside the sea, with gold and men sufficient to build you a stout keep, and servants to see to your every need."

Ser Barristan looked up sharply. "A hall to die in, and men to bury me. I thank you, my lords . . . but I spit upon your pity." He reached up and undid the clasps that held his cloak in place, and the heavy white garment slithered from his shoulders to fall in a heap on the floor. His helmet dropped with a clang. "I am a knight," he told them. He opened the silver fastenings of his breastplate and let that fall as well. "I shall die a knight."

"A naked knight, it would seem," quipped Littlefinger. They all laughed then, Joffrey on his throne, and the lord standing attendance, Janos Slynt and Queen Cersei and Sandor Clegane and even the other men of the Kingsguard, the five who had been his brothers until a moment ago. Surely that must have hurt the most, Sansa thought. Her heart went out to the gallant old man as he stood shamed and red-faced, too angry to speak. Finally, He drew his sword. Sansa heard someone gasp. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn, with a subtle limp, moved forward to confront him, but Ser Barristan froze them in place with a look that dripped contempt. "Have no fear, sers, your king is safe . . . no thanks to you. Even now,I could cut through the five of you as easy as a dagger cuts cheese. If you would serve under the Kingslayer, not a one of you is fit to wear the white." He flung his sword at the foot of the Iron Throne. "Here, boy. Melt it down and add it to the others, if you like. It will do you more good than the swords in the hands of these five. Perhaps Prince Stafford chance to sit on it when his uncle's army takes your throne." And immediately everyone mummering and Joffrey seemed to take great offense to this comment.

"What in the…" Joffrey stated. But before they could do or say anything Stafford and Ser Barristan walked out, "Come back here, I am not done with you two. Traitors the both of them! Guards seize the two of them,"

"You earn the right to speak to me when you gain honor! I am never going before any council or court as long as you stay king," Stafford replied venomously as Ser Barristan and him continued to storm out. Not even the guards seemed brave enough to stand between the two men, clearly enraged in what had happened before their very eyes.

"He talks of honor like he knows what it is, my brother is the most dishonorable person in the entire seven kingdoms. First he does the unthinkable during the tournament, next he somehow convinces his uncle Renly to openly declare treason for him, and now this, disregarding my decrees and openly stating he will not support me as the king,"

"Very true, your grace," Janos Slynt stated to the approval of many of the crowd. Sansa wanted to say something back to Joffrey, but her father's life seemed to be at stake, so she decided against it. Stafford wasn't there for Joffrey's words, nor did he probably want to be. Sansa knew Joffrey was not the same person she had dreamed about when they first met at Winterfell, and her first impression of the what she thought was a gallant prince. However, she still had a belief that he would show her father mercy, if she would play along with his game. She hated being treated like this, but she knew she had to do what she didn't want to do, in order to atone for what seemed like a mistake to sell her own father out to the queen.

"They could be making plots with my uncles. I want them both seized and questioned." No one moved. Joffrey raised his voice. "I said, I want him and the old knight seized!"

Janos Slynt rose from the council table. "My gold cloaks will see to it, Your Grace."

"Not so fast, Stafford and Ser Barristan with the current mood they are in, will not just turn themselves in when seized, your grace. They would likely put up a fight, and with the amount of experience and influence the old knight has, be out of the Landing and to Storm's End within a fortnight if we were to take action against them now," Lord Varys told him.

"So what? Then send some of the White cloaks to get them. Stafford and Barristan aren't going to be able to stand against two members of the kingsguard!" Littlefinger and Varys turned to each other. With the amount of skill Stafford and Ser Barristan had in combat as a group, Sansa doubted whether or not the entire Kingsguard could stand against them. Especially with the 'extra' support Renly left Stafford with. He had almost twenty five guardsman, under his personal command. And Stafford knew how to fight and lead a group.

"Your dear uncle Renly left your brother with a detachment of twenty five shields, they under Stafford's direct jurisdiction, and if you attacked or tried to capture him now, you risk Stafford and Barristan an opportunity to escape by force. IF you are really worried that they are planning rebellion, then capture them when they least expect it," Lord Varys suggested.

"Fine, as long as he is seized, it does not matter when it happens it only matters how," Joffrey stated. I might have a chance to redeem myself in his eyes. Just you wait your grace, Stafford will be gone and safe before you even have a chance to seize him.

"Your Grace," Littlefinger reminded the king. "If we might resume, the seven are now six. We find ourselves in need of a new sword for your Kingsguard." Joffrey smiled. "Tell them, Mother."

"The king and council have determined that no man in the Seven Kingdoms is more fit to guard and protect His Grace than his sworn shield, Sandor Clegane." "How do you like that, dog?" King Joffrey asked.

The Hound's scarred face was hard to read. He took a long moment to consider. "Why not? I have no lands nor wife to forsake, and who'd care if I did?" The burned side of his mouth twisted. "But I warn you, I'll say no knight's vows."

"The Sworn Brothers of this Kingsguard have always been knights," Ser Boros said firmly.

"Until now," the Hound said in his deep rasp, and Ser Boros fell silent.

The herald's voice boomed out. "If any man in this hall has other matters to set before His Grace, let him speak now or go forth and hold his silence." Sansa quailed. Now, she told herself, I must do it now. Gods give me courage. She took one step, then another. Lords and knights stepped aside silently to let her pass, and she felt the weight of their eyes on her. I must be as strong as my lady mother.

"Your Grace," she called out in a soft, tremulous voice. Joffrey got a good look at her from on top of the throne. He smiled unexpectedly.

"The Lady Sansa, of House Stark," the herald cried. She stopped under the throne, at the spot where Ser Barristan's white cloak lay puddled on the floor beside his helm and breastplate.

"Do you have some business for king and council, Sansa?" the queen asked from the council table. "I do." She knelt on the cloak, so as not to spoil her gown, and looked up at her prince on his fearsome black throne. "As it please Your Grace, I ask mercy for my father, Lord Eddard Stark, who was the Hand of the King." She had practiced the words a hundred times.

The queen sighed. "Sansa, you disappoint me. What did I tell you about traitor's blood?"

"And why in the seven hells should I listen to you? I watched you betray my trust thousands of times, with my own brother no less," If you had turned out to be the man I thought you would be, maybe Stafford would have never come into my life.

"Do you deny your father's crime?" Lord Baelish asked.

"No, my lords." Sansa knew better than that. "I know he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was King Robert's friend and he loved him, you all know he loved him. He never wanted to be Hand until the king asked him. They must have lied to him. Lord Renly or Lord Stannis or . . . or somebody, they must have lied, otherwise . . ." She hated having to blame someone, she knew Stafford had probably still associated with. Come to think of it, Stafford had never talked to Renly nor did he spread any type of rumors against Joffrey.

King Joffrey leaned forward, hands grasping the arms of the throne. Broken sword points fanned out between his fingers. "He said I wasn't the king. Why did he say that?" I wish you weren't King, maybe Stafford or seven hells, even Renly or Stannis would do better than you. If she had never met Stafford, or had never spoke to her she would still be blinded by the false image she had of Joffrey. However, through sheer coincidence, she had been free from the facade and knew at least some of the truth. If only she listen to her father, and left Winterfell. But then she would probably never see, Stafford again, and that would hurt her more than anything she could think of besides…she didn't want to think about the other thing that would make her feel worse.

"His leg was broken," Sansa replied eagerly. "It hurt ever so much, Maester Pycelle was giving him milk of the poppy, and they say that milk of the poppy fills your head with clouds. Otherwise he would never have said it."

Varys said, "A child's-faith . . . such sweet innocence . ..and yet, they say wisdom oft comes from the mouths of babes."

Joffrey rocked restlessly on the throne. "Mother?"

Cersei Lannister considered Sansa thoughtfully. "If Lord Eddard were to confess his crime," she said at last, "we would know he had repented his folly."

"Do you have any more to say?" he asked her.

"If you had any care for me whatsoever, even if I had wronged you with my actions in the past, just do me this kindness. Please, as your betrothed, even with all the mistakes I have done against you," Sansa managed to say. Even she got convinced by her reasoning. She hated her reasons, and never wanted to say this ever again.

"Your sweet words have moved me," he said, nodding, as if to say all would be well. "I shall do as you ask . . . but first your father has to confess. He has to confess and say that I'm the king, or there will be no mercy for him. He will confess before the Great Sept of Baelor, tomorrow." She might have just saved her father with her words, that she didn't fully want to say.

"He will," She said, "I know he will,"


	26. AGOT Arya V

**A/N: Whoa, I haven't uploaded in about a week and half or even two weeks now. Sorry for the wait, so I will make it up to everyone by uploading every other day. So the next chapter will be Saturday, and that is a promise. We will not have an almost two This is the long awaited execution scene of Eddard Stark. It leaves off a cliffhanger, as in right in the middle of Stafford's 'confrontation' with Joffrey. I can't really divulge details of what happens during the execution, but there are major changes in the events. First of all there will be a minor skirmish, Secondly there will be a Ser Barristan Selmy present during the execution unlike the books, and lastly this is a set up chapter for Stafford's final chapter before Act III starts. Then the rest of Act III will focus on Essos, and we will get Ellions II, III, IV POV chapters, as well as Daenerys' first POV in the entire series. Ellion and Daenerys will not meet in any of the chapters, but since we've neglected the events in Essos so much in this book, and the two will eventually meet anyway. Ellion has not been spotlighted with a POV or even mentioned since his debut in Chapter 13, so he will return in Chapter 28, and get a double chapter in 29, and then Daenerys will get her first POV in 30, and the final chapter in Act II will be 31 with Ellion. Then we will begin the official War of Five Kings.**

 **Golden Dragon King: Sansa has a fate much different than she would ever have in the books, so I'm glad you're enjoying the romance.**

 **Nate Texans: Yes, Barristan is one of my most favorite ASOIAF series and sometimes makes me question my sexuality (NO HOMO). Sorry for my update literally coming almost ten days after your original review, but I had some things to take care of (AP EXAMS).**

 _Arya_

The scent of hot bread drifting from the shops along the Street of Flour was sweeter than any perfume Arya had ever smelled. She took a deep breath and stepped closer to the pigeon. Arya still couldn't believe what happened at the Red Keep, and had happened to Syrio. _The First Sword of Braavos never runs._ She had watched him, surrounded by enemies, and strike them all down with his wooden sword. But when he faced that Meryn Trant, his wooden sword had broken. And as she ran, that was the last she ever saw of her dancing teacher, standing alone, his face unflinching, against a Knight of the Kingsguard.

Her stick sword whistled out and caught it two feet off the ground, and it went down in a flurry of brown feathers. She was on it in the blink of an eye, grabbing a wing as the pigeon flapped and fluttered. It pecked at her hand. She grabbed its neck and twisted until she felt the bone snap. She felt like that swift motion relieved whatever pain she had felt after all of the events at the Red Keep. Now she was finally to herself, nobody else would bother her at all. It was just about her own survival now, and she didn't have to worry about Sansa, Stafford, Joffrey, or any of them anymore. _Without me in their life it might be less complicated, and I wouldn't have to remind Stafford. Words really_ are _wind._

She tied the pigeon to her belt and started down the street. A man was pushing a load of tarts by on a two wheeled cart; the smells sang of blueberries and lemons and apricots. Her stomach made a hollow rumbly noise. "Could I have one?" she heard herself say. "A lemon, or . . . or any kind." She hadn't eaten anything but pigeons and she really needed something to eat.

The pushcart man looked her up and down. Plainly he did not like what he saw. "Three coppers." Arya tapped her wooden sword against the side of her boot. "I'll trade you a fat pigeon," she said. "The Others take your pigeon," the pushcart man said. The tarts were still warm from the oven. The smells were making her mouth water, but she did not have three coppers . . . or one.

Arya glanced warily behind her. Two of the City Watch were standing at the mouth of an alley. Their cloaks hung almost to the ground, the heavy wool dyed a rich gold; their mail and boots and gloves were black. Arya edged back from the cart and hurried off. She began to 'investigate' conversation of others in Flea Bottom, a crowded district in King's Landing. It wasn't exactly the most dangerous part, like the back alleys, but certainly wasn't the most pleasant of places.

The talk in Flea Bottom was that the gold cloaks had thrown in with the Lannisters, their commander raised to a lord, with lands on the Trident and a seat on the king's council. There was also the talk of a herald of Renly Baratheon demanding that Joffrey abdicate the throne in favor of his brother, Stafford. She really didn't want to hear Stafford's name or even see him ever again. After what he and Sansa did to her, she really didn't want anything to do with him. But to be honest, she still hated Joffrey more than she hated Stafford for what he did. That gold-haired bastard was just _creepy_ , and worst of all he just wasn't a good person. Stafford actually took the time to fool her into thinking he was.

She had also heard other things, scary things, things that made no sense to her. Some said her father had murdered King Robert and been slain in turn by Lord Renly. Some even said Stafford and Renly worked together in killing her father, which would have caused her considering killing both of them.

One thing all the stories agreed on: King Robert was dead. The bells in the seven towers of the Great Sept of Baelor had tolled for a day and a night, the thunder of their grief rolling across the city in a bronze tide. They only rang the bells like that for the death of a king, a tanner's boy told Arya. _If that's the case, Joffrey would have already been ascended to the throne._ A sixteen almost seventeen year old boy, on a King's Throne, was a thought that unsettled Arya. There were many great young Kings, but Joffrey certainly did not seem like one of the best kings. Not that it mattered now, they likely thought Arya had died or gone into hiding. The Lannisters didn't care what happened to her now.

All she wanted was to go home, but leaving King's Landing was not so easy as she had hoped. Arya had visited each of the seven city gates in turn. The Dragon Gate, the Lion Gate, and the Old Gate were closed and barred. The Mud Gate and the Gate of the Gods were open, but only to those who wanted to enter the city; the guards let no one out. Those who were allowed to leave left by the King's Gate or the Iron Gate, but Lannister men-at arms in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms manned the guard posts there questioning everyone who tried to pass on foot. Sometimes she thought about swimming the river, but the Blackwater Rush was wide and deep, and everyone agreed that its currents were wicked and treacherous. She had no coin to pay a ferryman or take passage on a ship.

Far across the city, bells began to ring.

"What's this now?" a fat man called from the pot-shop.

"The bells again, gods ha'mercy," wailed an old woman. A red-haired whore in a wisp of painted silk pushed open a second story window. "Is it the boy king that's died now?" she shouted down, leaning out over the street. "Ah, that's a boy for you, they never last long." As she laughed, a naked man slid his arms around her from behind, biting her neck and rubbing the heavy white breasts that hung loose beneath her shift.

"Stupid slut," the fat man shouted up. "The king's not dead, that's only summoning bells. One tower tolling. When the king dies, they ring every bell in the city."

A summoning? What type of summons was this? Was this a formal coronation or something more? Arya wanted to know what the people had gone on about. So she began walking around the city to figure out what will happen.

Two boys close to Arya's age scampered past, splashing through a puddle.

"Where you going?" she shouted when she was right behind him. "What's happening?" He glanced back without slowing. "The gold cloaks is carryin' him to the sept."

"Who?" she yelled, running hard.

"The Hand! They'll be taking his head off, Buu says." Her father in the Sept? Why would he be there of all places? And what happened after she left the keep? Why would he even be tried there? All these questions emerged as Arya,

"Make way!" someone shouted from the cross street. "Make way for my lords of Redwyne!" They wore checked cloaks, blue-and-burgundy. Behind them, two young lordlings rode side by side on a pair of chestnut mares alike as peas in a pod. Arya had seen them in the bailey a hundred times; the Redwyne twins, Ser Horas and Ser Hobber, homely youths with orange hair and square, freckled faces. Sansa and Jeyne Poole used to call them Ser Horror and Ser Slobber, and giggle whenever they caught sight of them. They did not look funny now.

She bit her lip as she limped along, listening to the excited voices around her.

"—the King's Hand, Lord Stark. They're carrying him up to Baelor's Sept."

"I heard he was dead."

"Soon enough, soon enough. Here, I got me a silver stag says they lop his head off."

"Past time, the traitor." The man spat.

"I heard he was conspiring with the Renly and his prince," the other man said.

"Renly doesn't have a son,"

"Are you daft? I'm talking about Prince Stafford Baratheon. Rumor is during a session a herald came demanding an abdication from Lord Renly himself," That was indeed some intriguing news. It confirmed at least a hint of an alliance between Stafford and Renly, though no one would be surprised with that one.

Arya squirmed through the press, ducking between the legs of horses and clutching tight to her sword stick. From the middle of the crowd, all she could see were arms and legs and stomachs, and the seven slender towers of the sept looming overhead.

Arya grew frantic. Forcing her way to the front of the crowd, she was shoved up against the stone of a plinth. She looked up at Baelor the Blessed, the septon king. Sliding her stick sword through her belt, Arya began to climb.

That was when she saw her father. He was dressed in a rich grey velvet doublet with a white wolf sewn on the front in beads, and a grey wool cloak trimmed with fur, but he was thinner than Arya had ever seen him. She wondered what they had done to him, as he had probably not been in the most royal accommodations.

The High Septon himself stood behind him, a squat man, grey with age and ponderously fat, wearing long white robes and an immense crown of spun gold and crystal that wreathed his head with rainbows whenever he moved.

Clustered around the doors of the sept, in front of the raised marble pulpit, were a knot of knights and high lords. Joffrey was prominent among them, his raiment all crimson, silk and satin patterned with prancing stags and roaring lions, a gold crown on his head. His queen mother stood beside him in a black mourning gown slashed with crimson, a veil of black diamonds in her hair. Arya recognized the Hound, wearing a snowy white cloak over his dark grey armor, with four of the Kingsguard around him. She noticed that Ser Barristan Selmy was no longer among them, and instead he was standing next to… Him. Ser Barristan wore a white cloak, but it was much, but this time instead of the Kingsguard armor, he wore plate, plain plate armor. He still had a sword in his scabbard. He stood next to Stafford Baratheon, this time wearing his signature cuirass and greaves and gauntlets atop a coat of mail, only this time only a stag was shown on his left shoulder plate on his off hand. His cloak also discarded most of the Lannister garb, which seemed to be a statement. His cloak was yellow, but she couldn't quite see. And right next to him was Sansa, dressed in sky-blue silk, with her long auburn hair washed and curled and silver bracelets on her wrists. They exchanged looks periodically, and it was probably due to the fact of their certain _intimate_ relationship, which Arya continued to resent. _The only person who committed a great treason was him. May the Seven Hells burn him and the Others take him._

Her father raised his voice and began again. "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King," he said more loudly, his clear, dignified and booming voice carrying across the plaza, "and I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods,"

"I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend, Robert," he shouted. "I swore to defend and protect his children, yet before his blood was cold, I plotted to depose and murder his son and seize the throne for his brother on behalf of Lord Renly Baratheon. Let the High Septon and Baelor the Beloved and the Seven bear witness to the truth of what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, and by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

A stone came sailing out of the crowd. Arya cried out as she saw her father hit. The gold cloaks kept him from falling. Blood ran down his face from a deep gash across his forehead. She stared at Stafford, who decided to be passive and do nothing at all. So this was the man she thought would rival even her father in honor. Truth is, he was a person, who let anyone trample over him just so he can protect someone he would betray anyway. _Your fate is fixed._

Another went clanging off the breastplate of the knight in the black-and-gold armor. Another one hit, Stafford in the shoulder, which caused Ser Barristan to step right in front of him to act as a shield. She wanted to see another person hit Stafford.

"As we sin, so do we suffer," he intoned, in a deep swelling voice much louder than her father's. "This man has confessed his crimes in the sight of gods and men, here in this holy place." Rainbows danced around his head as he lifted his hands in entreaty. "The gods are just, yet Blessed Baelor taught us that they are also merciful. What shall be done with this traitor, Your Grace?" Joffrey had a choice now, and Arya hoped he would make the right decision.

A thousand voices were screaming, but Arya never heard them. Prince Joffrey . . . no, King Joffrey . . . stepped out from behind the shields of his Kingsguard. "My mother bids me let Lord Eddard take the black, and Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father."

He looked straight at Sansa then, and smiled, and for a moment Arya thought that the gods had heard her prayer. Stafford gave Joffrey a look, and it looked like he had eased up before now. Ser Barristan also let out a sigh of relief. This was until Joffrey turned back to the crowd and said, "But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!"

The crowd roared, and Arya felt the statue of Baelor rock as they surged against it. The High Septon clutched at the king's cape, and Varys came rushing over waving his arms, and even the queen was saying something to him, but Joffrey shook his head. Stafford had a look of utter shock, and he stood there frozen for a long moment. Dimly, as if from far off, Arya heard her sister scream. Sansa had fallen to her knees, sobbing hysterically. Ser Ilyn Payne climbed the steps of the pulpit. She saw Stafford look at her in pain, and then to Ser Barristan. The two had a long look of quiet deliberation.

High atop the pulpit, Ser Ilyn Payne gestured and the knight in black-and-gold gave a command. The gold cloaks flung Lord Eddard to the marble, with his head and chest out over the edge. "Here, you!" an angry voice shouted at Arya, but she bowled past, shoving people aside, squirming between them, slamming into anyone in her way. A hand fumbled at her leg and she hacked at it, kicked at shins.

Ser Ilyn drew a two-handed great sword from the scabbard on his back. She could still hear Sansa screaming, as she was being held back by a few guardsman. He raised the sword, which she recognized as ice. Then she turned her attention to Stafford and Ser Barristan. For a moment, it looked like Ser Barristan had nodded to Stafford, but only the Gods knew what that meant. She saw Stafford take in a deep breath. _What was that signal about?_

Without warning, Barristan drew his sword from his scabbard and whistled. Suddenly from the crowd, twenty some armed troops emerged swords, spears, lances and all manner of weaponry drawn. Stafford brandished a hand axe, and right when the Ser Ilyn would have made contact with her father's head he met the Valyrian steel blade with the hand axe. _I can't believe it, he actually intervened..._

Everyone in the crowd either began to flee, stay there awestruck at what they are seeing before their very eyes, or getting shoved to the ground by city watchmen, who began to try to support and protect Joffrey and the kingsguard during the chaos occurring before their very eyes. Stafford managed to miraculously knock the blade to the side and disarm the executioner.

As the chaos continued, Stafford using all his might from what Arya could tell grounded Ser Ilyn, and forced him down to the ground.

"You!" He stated pointing at one of his own men at arms, "Make sure he doesn't move. Ser Barristan, watch Lord Eddard, he is not to DIE," He had a loud booming voice, especially for someone his age. Ser Barristan nodded and managed to stand over Lord Eddard. Stafford turned his attention to Joffrey with his axe drawn. His Kingsguard was surrounding him.

"Stafford! What in the Seven _fucking_ Hells do you think you are doing?" Joffrey screeched.

"You know Joffrey, There's a consequence for the paths people choose. And now that you have chosen your path, you will face the consequences of the path you chose,"

"Enough with the cryptic metaphors! What you are doing is treason!"

"It's not treason if I never supported you to begin with," Stafford boldly stated. He turned to the crowd, and Arya got a good view of what was happening, "People of King's Landing. What you bear witness to today is the true nature of a false king. Instead of showing benevolence, he shows cruelty. This is not a king you should rightfully support. Which is why I will TAKE the throne from him, even if it means war!"

"Kill him! Kill him! What are you all waiting for, I want his head and that wolf!" Immediately the kingsguard tried to surround Stafford, but they were immediately met by the men at arms. She recognized one men at arms, as that Dornishman from the tournament, the one that narrowly lost to him in an axe throwing competition. The men engaged and Stafford turned his sights to Sansa, who was still being held onto by who she now recognized as Meryn Trant, who looked as if he ached and limped with his steps and raising of his arms.

Stafford with only a handaxe turned away from the main action, which saw some of his makeshift force engage the Kingsguard, which had halted to deadlock, with the Kingsguard gaining some traction and beginning to push them back. Meryn Trant knowing Stafford had targeted him, threw Sansa on the ground, and drew his sword. Stafford smiled.

"I'll wipe that smile off your face, traitor," Meryn Trant declared as he charged for Stafford. Stafford met Meryn Trant's first slice with his axe, and easily moved it away. Meryn Trant looked like he had the reach on him with his long sword, but Stafford quickly closed the distance. Meryn Trant let out a flurry, which Stafford managed to easily weave through. So much for the image the Kingsguard had as the most fearsome bodyguards for the king. Meryn Trant was being stood up by a fifteen year old boy, which should not be the case. Stafford should have been defeated within seconds after he tried to stand against the knight. But even with the weapon Stafford had being live steel, Stafford was unusually composed during the battle. Like had expected what was going on, or at least knew this would happen. Arya had never seen this out of Stafford, as he is usually a person, who improvises in the battlefield, with little or no planning whatsoever.

And as if in an instant, as soon as Meryn Trant tried to land a heavy blow from the top, Stafford skillfully met it, but this time used the beard of his axe to disarm the knight. The knight stunned and staggered watched helplessly as Stafford landed two heavy blows with his axe to his knees. In agony, Meryn Trant fell to the floor grounded and disarmed, clutching his swollen legs. Stafford ran over to Sansa, and they both embraced. Arya still felt enraged even with this show of affection, and it even distracted her a little from the battle against the Kingsguard, which was now going very badly for the men at arms, Stafford had used to surprise Joffrey. Sansa whispered something to Stafford, still almost in tears. Stafford nodded and said something back.

However this was interrupted when suddenly one of the white coats from the battle to protect Joffrey came over and decided to bash Stafford to the ground. Stafford got up quickly, and turned to face his opponent. It was the hound, who began to go on the offensive. The hound hit Stafford from all sides, and Stafford managed to deflect all the blows, but Arya could tell that Stafford was tired. Sansa could do nothing, but watch as Stafford fought off someone bigger, stronger and more experienced in combat than he was. It made it even worse that some of Stafford's techniques with an axe were taught to him by the man he was fighting.

Stafford held out, with a vigor, even landing a few heavy blows to the hound, which only seemed to make him more vicious with his strikes against Stafford. Finally, after another clash, Stafford was hit square in the gauntlet with a sword strike knocking out his sword. Sansa's expression turned bleak when Stafford was disarmed, and Arya even worried what might happen to Stafford now. He was at the mercy of someone, no one wanted to be at the mercy of.

"You need to practice more, boy." He turned to her sister, Sandor Clegane rasped. He hefted his blade ready to strike. Arya might have wanted to shield her eyes.

Suddenly, something struck the hound. And before he knew it, he had been staggered. Standing before him was Ser Barristan, who had moved all the way from where her father was to where Stafford was protecting Sansa.

"No one touches the king on my watch!" Ser Barristan proclaimed.

"So you got the old knight to help you," Sandor Clegane stated, "Well, let's if those old bones of yours still have any fight left in them." The two clashed their blades with Stafford trying desperately to get his weapon. Arya turned to notice more of the people fighting and saw that the Kingsguard had begun to push through the men at arms. Ser Barristan and Sandor Clegane were still at full combat, blocking and parrying and riposting with their swords. Ser Barristan, though very old, still had strength in each strike of the blade. Sandor Clegane, however gained a bit of momentum, but somehow the old man stayed in it, and continued to hold his ground. Each block he made of Sandor's heavy blows showed just how experienced the old man was. Stafford managed to recover his hand axe, and made sure that no gold coat got anywhere near Sansa. He fought off some spearmen, his axe literally broke the spears in half. This must have taken a lot of strength, as hand axe, as far as Arya knew did not have the power to chop the shafts of spears in half.

And then it happened. While Stafford and the rest of his men were busy dealing with the now large number of gold coats, the handful of Kingsguard, and other allies of Joffrey, Arya noticed that Ilyn Payne had gotten up. The simple men at arms in charge of watching Ilyn Payne tried to lift his sword to bring it down on the knight, but Ilyn Payne literally caught his hand before it made contact, grabbed him by his throat and threw him down. Then if the situation couldn't get any worse, any person near that place got swarmed by gold cloaks. And somehow against all odds, he managed to recover Ice, and he had it in his hands. Like a demon made flesh, Ilyn Payne hacked and whirled and killed all the guardsmen in his way, the silent phantom a grey blur behind Ned Stark, that Stafford didn't notice as he was fighting. It was now he noticed the Dornishman, who had driven back most of his enemies that were surging from a shield wall behind Stafford, busy taking on both gold cloaks and white cloaks with brutal and rapid strikes, dragging two of the Kingsguard to their feet with the lugs of his spear and trying to stab them through the larger slits of their helms. This had knocked them into clawing at their helms and twitching on the ground, and there those Kingsguard lay. All the while, he laughed from beneath his visored helm with a mail aventail that covered his face. Despite his bloodthirst, he was surrounded, the shield wall against the Lannisters waning in strength.

Her father had not moved, still bound. He could have used the chaos to slip away, but Arya knew her father had far too much honor to do that. He didn't want to abandon Sansa to whatever fate Joffrey gave to her if he managed to slip away. As he slaughtered the last few of the nine guardsmen surrounding and protecting her father, Ilyn Payne lifted the blade above his head, sunlight seemed to ripple and dance down the dark metal, glinting off an edge sharper than any razor.

And then a hand shot out of the press and closed round her arm like a wolf trap, so hard that Needle went flying from her hand. Arya was wrenched off her feet. She would have fallen if he hadn't held her up, as easy as if she were a doll. A face pressed close to hers, long black hair and tangled beard and rotten teeth.

"Don't look!" a thick voice snarled at her.

"By the Gods, how in the…" She heard a voice, which she knew belonged to Stafford. Then she heard silence, and then a scream, which she recognized as her sister.

"Stafford, the line's faltering. We got to get out of here and to the ship fast!" He heard a voice, which didn't sound familiar to him. She could still Sansa's hysterical wailing in the background. She wanted to turn around to see what Stafford was doing now, but she would see her father, or rather what might have been left of her father. Yoren, yes, his name is Yoren.

She did not recall him finding Needle, until he handed the sword back to her. "Hope you can use that, boy."

"I'm not—" she started. He shoved her into a doorway, thrust dirty fingers through her hair, and gave it a twist, yanking her head back.

"—not a smart boy, that what you mean to say?" He finished for her.

Arya threw herself backward, kicking wildly, wrenching her head from side to side, but he had her by the hair, so strong, she could feel her scalp tearing, and on her lips the salt taste of tears.


	27. AGOT Stafford VIX

**A/N: Alright, welcome to Chapter Twenty-Seven. This is the part where Stafford escapes the King's Landing with Sansa, Odyn, and of course my boy Ser Barristan. Now, it may feel a little rushed, but honestly, I wanted to get this out of the way, so that we can get to Essos, check up on Ellion (If Ellion was a cannon character, and had an actor in show it would be Jake Abel, and we would have ADAM/ MICHAEL in ASOIAF, but that never happened in real life, so I just had to cast him in fanfiction), and more importantly after we get to Essos, which has been neglected for sometime get to the fighting. My collaborators have been editing, and I have been writing this for about FOUR months now, and I, especially haven't gotten a taste for what we've been waiting for the War of 'Four' Kings (It can't be five, because Renly and Stannis support Stafford). Thank you all for the support and hope that you continue to read the story as we get into the war.**

 **Charles Ceaser: Thank you and I tried my best to update when I promised I would, so be on the lookout for every other day. Seniors get out early for break in my school, because of graduation, so I have** _ **plenty**_ **of time to write now.**

 _Stafford_

Surrounded. Line faltering. The chances of escape slim. Stafford looked over and saw Lord Eddard's headless body with Ser Ilyn standing over him. He had not accomplished the goal of saving Lord Eddard with his little gambit, but he wasn't about to die here either. The shield wall of his men at arms were crumbling, no doubt about it. The angry crowd was getting restless, as many were either fighting to get out of the streets or trying to get a good view of the fight. Sansa still shook, tried to run up to her father's body, thinking there might be a chance he still lived. But, Stafford saw it when it was too late. The Valyrian sword cutting off his head, and Stafford could do nothing, but watch. Stafford held onto Sansa as she tried to struggle from him.

"Let go! He could still live!" She shrieked while the fight continued to ensue around them. Odyn Sand, the Dornishman had proven useful, especially now that Stafford had his hands full trying to calm Sansa down.

"I'm not about to let you out of my sight to go check. Sansa, we need to get out of here," Stafford tried to convince her. But she still tried to persistently struggle.

"But my father…"

"Look, Sansa I'm sorry about your father. I really am. But if you continue to struggle, I could end up dead, and you'll end up captured by Joffrey. Do you want that," She shook her head no, but she still looked visibly shook by what just happened,

"We need to get moving, Stafford. We only have a very small opening, or our heads might end up on a pike as an example," Odyn stated. Stafford looked at him and then back to Sansa.

"Sansa, come on. I would have left with Renly if I knew you would be safe here. We both need to get out of here." Silence was exchanged for awhile. Stafford felt nervous and wondered if Sansa might not come with him. That would be a cutting blow to him.

"Ok…" She managed to say, before Stafford pulled her in close, which came to shock of a lot of the crowd.

"You won't regret it, Barristan, Odyn, everyone make the push out," Stafford boomed. Barristan turned, and with a vigor managed to use his advantage to send Sandor crashing down, and before he could recover, Barristan had him swarmed with some men at arms to distract them. They only had ten men, who would accompany them out of the Sept.

"The shield wall will not last long, but they have been told to hold them off for the escape," Odyn stated. With Sansa near him, Stafford managed to drag through the crowd as they managed to push to the unguarded steps. The gold cloaks must have noticed as many of them began trying to push to get to the small squad of ten that accompanied Stafford down the steps. The wall fought hard though, like a cornered animal with nothing to lose. They held as long as they could and when they descended the steps, Stafford could see they were still holding. Stafford and his group encountered gold cloaks as they pushed through the crowd. However, he used this to his advantage throwing bystanders at them. He used this method to navigate through flea bottom, and used back alley shortcuts to get to the port near Blackwater Bay as quickly as possibly. While pushing through the crowd, Stafford basically had to keep Sansa within arms reach, and fight away any attacker that tried to get to them. She grabbed onto his left non axe hand tightly, and Stafford made sure she felt as safe as she could while they fought through everything.

When they got to the port, they were already exhausted from the fighting. Stafford and rest of them finally saw the miraculous escape ready to culminate as they saw the _Stag of the Sea_ , docked with some men ready to receive them. There were about fifty men, who were ready to fight off anyone, who tried to come near the ship. They had already defeated some gold cloaks, and Stafford was relieved to see that the escape route had finally been cleared. They had managed to fight through crowded streets, and managed to escape death more times than one. They were only down to three bodyguards, Odyn, Ser Barristan, and Sansa was still holding on tightly to Stafford's hand. The three bodyguards were also quite inexperienced and managed to get by on sheer luck in Stafford's opinion. Two were the squires Renly and Stafford had teamed up with during the melee, and they were one of the only people in Kings Landing that volunteered to be part of Stafford's bodyguard during this gambit. Stafford didn't really know why the two squires, the tall one, and the short one, really sided with him. They might have just done so to make a name for themselves earlier, because their only prerequisite for volunteering for what amounted to a suicide mission at best, to human shields if the job was taken purely at face value, was knighthood. Stafford promised it to them if they survived, and somehow miraculously the two survived. The gold cloaks were hastily following after them, but some of them had engaged with the meeting crew near where the ship was docked. They arrived and helped the meeting party out with finishing off the gold cloaks. The people went down easily, as Stafford, Barristan, and even the squires finished them off. Stafford had handed Sansa off to one of the crew members, who escorted her to the ship. Sansa was reluctant to let go of Stafford, but she went with the crew member to board the ship.

Stafford, the squires, Odyn, and Ser Barristan moved out and defeated some of the gold cloaks that now began to swarm them like flies. They were running into a grindstone as the group meticulously fought them back. Little to no casualties were happening on Stafford's side, but they continued pouring in. Suddenly he heard someone yell from behind him standing just before the wooden platforms used to make a bridge to the galley.

"Stafford! Let's go, we only have mere minutes before the Lannister's call in their ships and trap us at dock. The Stag of the Sea is fast, but not that fast," He heard the voice say. Stafford turned around and saw the stern face of Stannis Baratheon look to him, "I did not come all the way from Dragonstone, to get killed or worse get captured by the Lannister's alongside you. There's plenty of fight left to fight." Stafford smiled, but looked to the men, who were holding off the gold cloaks.

"What of the men?" Stafford asked Stannis. They were going to die if they just left while they were holding off the gold cloaks from storming the docks.

"They knew they were going to have to make sacrifices by volunteering themselves for the mission," Stannis stated sternly, "Now come on, take Ser Barristan, and what's left of your little host." Stafford although not with the most willing of hearts, nodded, and decided to signal the rest of his men off, to be replaced with some of the fifty men, who were now holding off a storm of gold coats. There were now the squires, Odyn and Barristan left out of the twenty five, who had set the stage for the ambush in the Sept. Stafford didn't know how they managed to get from the Sept to the docks with Gold coats chasing after them, Sansa accompanying them, and having to travel that amount of distance. The miracle gambit at King's Landing might work...if they are not cut short here.

"Get the galley in order! Let's move, we meet my flagship in the open waters where its safe, then were en route to Storm's End!" Stannis yelled. The captain of the ship repeated his orders, and everyone began to make preparations to get out of the doc. The galley was a ship made for war, but it was smaller and one of the fastest ships in Stannis' fleet. It wasn't triple decked like the _Fury_ , but it was meant to be used with its sole purpose of out manuvering enemy ships and boarding them. _Stag of the Sea_ was indeed the best one for the sort of job Stannis needed it to do when it had to pick up Stafford from the little predicament he caused when he decided to defy his brother on stage. Nowhere would have been safe for him in the Landing. The sailors frantically ran across the ship and the galley began to move. Stafford could see and feel them moving now, and when the ship got about three hundred paces away from land, he knew they were safe from any gold coats even trying to board the ship. Stafford did not see any ships preparing to pursuit them, and it was lucky. It took them a while before they got the dock, so they were just lucky they weren't blockaded in the land right now. The galley however would not slow down to find out if any ship would be sent after the _Stag of the Sea_. She reached full speed before Stafford could get his full bearings on the ship. But, Stafford knew that it was for the best, because he sure did not want to fall victim to any of the ships coming for him.

"We actually made it out of there!" He heard the Dornishman Odyn Sand proclaim. Stafford was more surprised in the fact that he didn't die while trying to fight it out in the Sept, or when they had to make a quick dash to the docks. Stafford knew that he could have easily met his end in the fight to get to the docks anyway and he thanked the Gods for watching over him today. _I live to fight another day. The revolution shall continue and I shall claim the throne that my brother does not rightfully deserve._

"Well, there's plenty more hardship we have to go through. The battle is won today, but we still have a war to fight," Ser Barristan stated keeping his composure somehow after all the fighting he had gone through today. Stafford was surprised the old man still had enough vigor in him through the fight. _And my brother tried to kick him out of the Kingsguard…_

Stafford let out a sigh and thought about the events of the past few weeks. First his father dies, and leaves the realm in a state of chaos. Then, Renly somehow found out about Joffrey's parentage and with that knowledge came up with a plan to usurp the throne from Joffrey. Stafford thought his uncle was crazy the first time he broke the news to him, but in Stafford's heart he knew it to be true. Stafford had wondered what would bring his mother to do such a thing in the first place. But, even her demeanor during what turned out to be an execution changed. She did her best to stay in the shadows, but somehow, Stafford knew she was still protecting him even though they were fighting on different sides now. It will be more likely that Stafford will get branded a traitor by Joffrey and lose all his rights to anything. Stafford will have to fight for his throne. He had one more road to cross, one more risk to take. He had to live his life like there's one more move to make. This is life, and it is all Stafford knew. So this was his life.

"A lot happened today, and this is a great time to take inventory," Stafford stated. Odyn nodded and Ser Barristan did as well.

"I might suggest talking with Lady Sansa, she seems troubled by today's events to say the least. You did risk a lot just for her," Ser Barristan suggested, "In the meantime, I need to get some rest. I haven't been in combat like that for years, but of course I will take my rest while watching you. I am not about to let an assassin take your life while I am at ease,"

Stafford took his advice, and sure enough he saw Sansa staring off into the distance on the stern of the galley. Stafford approached her and she noticed him and glanced back at him. Stafford was still in his armor, and his hand axe was still sheathed inside him. Stafford could tell by her look that she was confused to say the least.

"He's dead isn't he? And it's all my fault…" Sansa managed to say, "If I hadn't been selfish and went to…" Her voice trailed off. Stafford went to her. Stafford didn't want her falling apart at a time like this. Stafford would rather she blame him for her father's death than herself. He could not stand to see her like this.

"Sansa...It's not your fault. The plan to try to rescue your and your father this way was my own creation. If I hadn't been so reckless and left him unattended, he probably still be here right now. If you're going to blame someone, blame me,"  
"What's the point in that? He died, and I had something to do with it. I trusted the Lannister's enough to betray him and in the end that caused his death," she said shakily. She was visible shaking while leading on the railing on the stern of the ship.

"Don't blame yourself. That's not going to help," Stafford stated as he held her close. He could still feel her shaking while doing this, "What's important is we got you out of King's Landing. I failed my objective of also saving your father, but mark my words I will avenge him. He will not die without reason."

Sansa began to cry as she embraced him, and Stafford held her closer. Stafford felt like she was in a better place now though. She was free from King's Landing and being in the presence of her father's murderers. Stafford wished things could have turned out differently for them though. Stafford wished he could have saved Lord Eddard from execution, he wished he could have stopped Joffrey before he could make such a reckless decisions, as well. Until the storm is over, Stafford will continue fighting, though. Sansa depended on him to fight for them. It was all he was good for, fighting. He wasn't the smartest, he definitely wasn't the wisest, and he sure wasn't the most cunning. However, he was good with an axe, and a loud voice, so he had practically been born to live on the battlefield.

"I sure hope you're right, Stafford. But promise me, you won't ever abandon me like Joffrey did,"

"I promise," He told her, and this was a promise he intended to keep. He had broken enough promises in his lifetime to know that it didn't feel good when he broke a promise. It affected him and the person he promised the thing to. And Stafford knew that his word was unbreaking now.

The two were there for a little bit, till Stafford broke off when he saw the rest of the fleet bound for Storm's End waiting for them. Stannis immediately walked up to Stafford at that point.

"Alright, Stafford. Welcome to your new royal fleet. If we're going to fight a war, you're going to need a navy. And you have the privilege of having me lead them. Oh, and now that you're king you better get ready to be addressed as _your grace_ from now on," Stannis explained. He said in a way Grand Maester Pycelle used to teach the history of Westeros to him.

"Your grace? Well, that's something to get used to,"

"Just remember I'm still your uncle, Stafford so I still have the right to address you by your first name, much like how I addressed Robert," Stannis managed to say, "Anyway, _Stag of the Sea_ is yours. When we get to Storm's End it will be upgraded more to your tastes, with the probable three months we have to mobilize troops. There's an officer's quarters and I'm sure you and your lady wouldn't mind sleeping in the same bed. Unless she wants to sleep with the rest of the crew in the midship holds." Stafford could see Sansa turn red at thought of having to sleep in the same bed as him. Stafford didn't entirely feel comfortable with idea either, but he really just needed to rest after all that had happened during this day.

"Don't worry, Sansa none of _that_ is happening. We're not even married yet,"

"You thought I was thinking of that?" She said turning even redder. Stafford always had a way of making this more awkward than they should have been.

"Anyway, I'll be boarding the Fury. We'll stay for about an hour, then we'll be on our way to Storm's End. And I'm sure Renly has plenty to discuss with you before then." _Well, we might lose this war, but at least it will get interesting._

* * *

Before long, they had finished boarding their respective galleys and were on their way to Storm's End. At the pace Stannis was making them go at, making the galley oarsmen work in shifts, where they would not even stop at night, and with the fortuitous winds, they would be able to reach Shipbreaker bay and get to Storm's End. Stafford just hope he doesn't die of shipwreck before they get there, but with the amount of miracles the Gods had provided him in the escape, he was sure not even a storm can him get to Storm's End safely.

Stafford was now in the galley's officer's quarters, staring blankly at his journal, not knowing what to write in it. It was his third journal, as he had left his first one in Winterfell, and wondered where that even went to. Sadly his second journal, was back in King's Landing, and he couldn't really go back to get it now. Stafford was alone inside the officer's quarters with Sansa, who was still silent possibly lamenting on what had just occurred. Sansa was sitting on the medium sized bed provided in the officer's quarters. Stafford not really knowing what to do now, probably tired of the way things had turned out now. So, Stafford got up and turned to Sansa.

"Well, I'm going to get some rest, a lot has happened today…"

"Oh...okay," Sansa managed to say, still probably flustered that they had to sleep in the same bed. Stafford didn't exactly feel right about it, but there were no other beds in the ship...unless she wanted to sleep with the rest of the men in the midship hold.

"I could sleep on the floor if you're not comfortable with the little arrangement, Stannis gave us. Probably Renly, up to his old tricks again. This might have been his idea, and Stannis was just too blind to see what he's trying to do," Stafford stated.

"It's fine, I just haven't," She paused, "Ever done this with anyone before,"

"Don't worry, I won't try anything. That's just not the person I am to be honest," Stafford sighed and crashed onto the bed. Sansa sat next to him on the bed now in a nightgown Stannis had given her before he left for the _Fury_. Stannis sure knew how to prepare for this, but she took her time dressing as Stafford stood outside of the officer's quarters for what seemed like hours.

Stafford lay on his back for a few moments trying to soak in what had happened to him. Sansa had even decided to lie down next to him, though much farther apart. Stafford respected her space, and began to drift off himself, before he heard her speak.

"Stafford," She said

"What is it?" Stafford stated turning to her. She had a bleak expression on her face.

"What if I was still in King's Landing right now. What would happen to me then?"

"It's best not think about it, There's plenty of things that could have happened today, and while there were events that were less than favorable that happened today, we're still alive aren't we?"

"If I hadn't come to King's Landing or your father never appointed my father as hand, he could still be alive today," Sansa sighed and unexpected she shifted over to where she literally put her head on Stafford's chest. Stafford didn't really know what to think of what was happening right now, "But I wouldn't have been able to get to know you or even meet you for that matter."

"That's true," Stafford smiled, "And I wouldn't have been able to fall for you Sansa Stark."


	28. AGOT Ellion II

**A/N: Alright lets give Stafford time to travel to Storm's End and check in on Ellion. A lot when on off page with Ellion, he's spent the past 8-9 months doing mercenary work. But this is a critical chapter in his POV and will hasten some of the plot points in Essos. Ellion's story is sort of modeled after and inspired by Fire Emblem Path of Radiance, more specifically, the character two have similar personalities, they fight the same way, and they both end up helping a Princess reclaim her homeland after being in exile. He doesnt have a sister though (well...we'll cross that bridge when we get there). So some of the plot might be familiar to Fire Emblem fans reading this (Ellion being in a mercenary company, and other things). I also made some changes with chapters, the next chapter will be Daenerys first chapter, and will pick up right when A Clash of Kings starts, technically signalling the end of Act II, but we'll count Ellion's chapter which is after hers as Act II. I also changed it so that the two can meet in childhood, justifying it by the fact that Dany travelled to Volantis and stayed there when she and Viserys wandered the Free we return to Stafford and he begins mobilization. Hope y'all enjoy the chapter, and keep in mind Ellion might be paired with Daenerys, but we'll see. If you know the relationship between Ike and Elincia and how much the localized version of the game shipped the two so hard, I might have to pair them up to tribute Ike's story a little more. Thank you for all the support.**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Ellion_

It had been almost a year since Ellion's first mission with the company. And yet, he felt as if there was more that he could accomplish than the work thrown at him. He was eager to prove himself outside of just killing bandits, clearing villages, and hunting down men with a price on their heads. Each mission gave him experience, experience he needed to get stronger, but none of them could make him prove his true worth to the company. Although, he did not care what people thought about his accomplishments, and their many rumors and stares given by them, because of his high position among the mercenaries. He was already a Lieutenant, a very high position in the company, the only higher rank being a captain. Captains were Griff's main advisors, and Ellion knew he would have to prove his worth in something to earn the namesake Captain. _The job will come, no reason to get impatient._

His portion of the company had just finished two of their missions, and were taking their ease at Volantis for the time being. While the others were taking their leisure in a tavern somewhere, Ellion took a quiet walk by himself on the Long Bridge. He observed the buildings that arose on both sides of the bridge, and looked at gateway in the distance. He always liked the quiet, the peace and serenity it gave him. Ellion liked it when he was alone, because he got more things done alone. He trained alone mostly, except when he had to spar with someone else, he fought better alone, and most of all he felt better alone. It wasn't like he didn't care about other people, he did, and that was what he was trying to avoid. The more time he spent with a person, he got more attached, and he didn't want to be attached to anyone he didn't need to be attached to at all. It just felt like he needed to find a way to disassociate himself from the rest of the world around him. He just needed to breathe, and be away from people sometimes, and that is why he valued being alone. Sure, there were others around him walking doing their daily business, but he paid them no mind, and they did as well, which is what he liked.

Ellion adjusted his sleeve, which hid the scars the greyscale had left him on his arms. One of the most rare diseases had infected him as a child, and he had survived it. Ellion felt as if he was a survivor, someone who is able to withstand hardship. Whatever the world threw at him, he took and gave back in due time. Ellion felt even as a child, not even knowing what a fight was, or not even knowing the meaning of a true struggle, he still fought hard, and never gave up. Not even a debilitating disease could cause him to die, nothing would kill him without a fight.

These long walks on the Long Bridge always got him thinking about these things. He didn't care what would happen to him in the silence, he would just think about himself, and what had happened to him thus far. He also thought of what might happen to him and what type of events would happen in his life. The Long Bridge walk gave him a time to take inventory of everything about him, and he thought reflection would give him a better idea of what he could do better in the future. Though he had no intention of changing things that he felt went against his morals, personality, and beliefs with the reflection, it always gave Ellion an idea of what worked and what didn't. And somehow he had the choice of changing those things to see if they work better.

"Ellion!" He heard from behind him. Ellion turned around and saw that it was one of the mercenaries in the portion of the company. Ellion didn't know why he was here, and he didn't even know his name to be honest.

"What?" Ellion asked bluntly.

"Griff asked for all the Lieutenants to gather in the Merchant's House for an important announcement," Now that intrigued Ellion. It seemed Griff was asking for the Lieutenants, and from the language used by the mercenary in his company, it would seem the Captains weren't all present like usual. _Why would he want just the Lieutenants_?

Ellion looked at him, "I'll make my way there immediately then." The mercenary nodded and Ellion briskly walked for the Merchant's House. Ellion even managed to outpace the mercenary messenger.

Ellion was at the Merchant's House before he knew it. He entered and saw that he had no room to maneuver around like it had typically been in the Merchant's House. The place seemed like it was a filled tankard, no room for anything to get in. He could tell a great deal of people he ran into were sellswords, some in his company, some in others. Ellion always wore his boiled leather and chainmail armor, which protected him well enough in the battlefield. It never portrayed a shameful display either, it looked quite good. Ellion pushed his way through the crowds of people in the Merchant's House, and managed to find the meeting place where the lieutenants met. It was a private corner complete with a large table, that could be used for planning.  
Griff stood over it, surrounding by two of his captains, one of the three missing, and the eleven other lieutenants surrounding the table still strapped with their weapons. Griff noticed him and took a deep breath when everyone finally stood in attention. Ellion wondered why the third Captain was missing from the group, Then he remembered that Captain Gadon was on a mission with two-thousand other troops to the Qarth.

"As you all know, Gadon began. However, we have sad news, well his group or rather what's left of his group of two thousand, came back to report that he has passed on," Griff declared. Murmurs could be heard from the rest of the captains. Ellion scoffed, there had to more to the thing. Gadon wasn't just some push over and his part of the company were one of the most seasoned he had ever known. They wouldn't just get defeated by common highwaymen.

"They stated that they were ambushed by a Dothraki Khalasar, and the five hundred men who managed to evade death or worse from the Dothraki seemed trustworthy to me," Griff stated. _A Khalasar, what problem did the Dothraki have with us?_ The Dothraki were territorial, but the location they went to was far from the Dothraki Sea if they had followed their route.

"As far as we know they stayed en route, and were ambushed for some reason. Which is why, we need to have someone replace Gadon as captain," This sparked further quiet discussion from Ellion's peers. Ellion's eyes grew wide when he heard that Griff was appointing a new Captain. This was his chance to get his wish, to become a Captain, "I am not however, going to just hand someone this position. One must prove his worth before becoming a Captain."

"How are we going to prove our worth to you?" One of big brawny lieutenants known as Reaver Revan stated. He was the longest serving lieutenant in the company, so he probably wanted the spot of Captain as much as he would.

"I'm glad you asked Revan. You see, the mission in Qarth is still happening. Our contact there has a very interesting proposition for us. Now, if Gadon had taken my advice and just went to Qarth by sea, he probably wouldn't have died. Instead, he was afraid of going anywhere by sea, and he met his end in the overland route he trusted so much. Which is why to prove your worth as a Captain, you will lead two thousand more men, which all I can afford at the moment, and you will lead them through the overland route he took," This caused some outrage, especially with Revan.

"Gadon died taking that route! Do you plan on others getting slaughtered by Dothraki?" Revan roared.

"So I guess you don't volunteer then?" Griff stated.

"Hells no! Don't know the difference between killin' yerself and provin' worth," Revan managed to yell as he finally backed down. Silence engulfed the area, while the noise of the rest of the large inn poured in. Ellion, knew this was a dangerous mission, but this was the mission he had waited for. He can finally prove his worth, and show them that he wasn't just a lieutenant, because he was raised by Griff. So he wants to take the long overland route to Qarth, which would take a month and a half at best to more than two months if it took longer, especially with two thousand men.

"I'll go," Ellion stated much to the surprise of everyone else. Some even laughed when he said that.

"Boy, you do realize this is dangerous right?" Griff asked him puzzled by his decision to step forward, "You're the least experienced Lieutenant I have, and yet you volunteer for it? Is it stupidity or serious guts?"

"A little bit of both to be honest. But look Griff, I can do it. In fact, I can promise you we can get to Qarth safely in one and a half months," Ellion stated boldly. Everyone literally went silent, when they realized he said that. No one said another word for a minute, before Griff began to chuckle.

"You really believe, Gadon got ambushed by Dothraki? Fools, I was testing everyone to see if they would have the guts to volunteer. Gadon died of dysentery somewhere along the path, and his soldiers all returned to safety under his lieutenant, who I purposely did not make attend this meeting to test you all. And yet, the most experienced cowered like sheep, while a young man inexperienced and eager to prove himself stepped up," Griff stated turning to the rest of the now bewildered Lieutenants, "I'm sending Ellion here with all of these men by ship to get to Qarth. He will arrive there in about twenty days, and a thousand men will arrive with him. They'll stick to the coast. The real challenge for him to receive his captain position will be whether he can use these men to complete the task assigned to him." Revan sort of lost it at this point. Revan literally stormed out of the meeting and muttered obscene things along with it. Everyone else was still whispering to one another like "So the boy is his favorite" and "The boy probably knew about this and volunteered to get the job, because Griff told him too" Ellion ignored it. _Cool, I don't get upset. Because it's sort of...an addiction when it comes to people wrong._ Ellion felt that he contributed to a major effect in every battle he's ever been in. Sure, he wasn't the best fighter they had in it, and many even thought that he was too small to fight in his style. Before, he had decided to use a single longsword without a shield, but decided against it in favor for a two handed greatsword. As he was only five feet nine inches tall, he wasn't very tall in comparison to most bruisers, who went in with a two handed greatsword. He was an inch taller than most noble women, and even some common women, and he was more lean than muscular, making his style seem to contrast what he meant to take.

"With that you are all free to go, I'd like to see you, however, Ellion," Griff stated. Everyone quickly shuffled out of the meeting table, and even the Captains made their way out of the Meeting House, or went to the main dining area for a drink of ale or mead. Ellion approached Griff as he went his way.

"You know why I sent Gidon to Qarth?"

"No, sir, I have no idea," Ellion replied, as he adjusted his two handed greatsword resting on his shoulder, too cumbersome for a back sheath.

"Sure, a merchant there offered a job. A large one that required over two thousand men, we had to take out a group of well organized bandits, not necessarily strong ones, but definitely disruptive enough to cause a merchant company to call our company. Not any sellsword company would be commissioned by a merchant company," _Great so this initiations into being a captain, might just be too easy, proving the suspicions of every single person in the company._

"So, I'm just going to be taking out a few bandits?" Ellion asked Griff bluntly.

"No, not exactly. There's also another thing I would like to personally ask you to do. I convinced a spy network to sell me intel on the city. From what I understand, Daenerys Targaryen and her entire army of Dothraki are reported to be close by. You should get to Qarth by the time she decides to enter the city, if she even decides to at all," Griff explained to Ellion.

"And what does some Targaryen potentially entering the city have to do with me?" Ellion told him. Some noble woman doesn't concern him, but he thought he had heard that name before. Of course, he had heard of her recent accomplishment, especially in the Free Cities near the Dothraki Sea. Then, it struck him, suddenly he knew where he had heard the name before earlier than that. It was still a little fuzzy, so he pondered on it while he continued listen to Griff speak.

"I want you to potentially meet her, and act as my representative asking to enter her cause," Griff stated, "I know it might be hard to get close to her, so that will be where your swords come in. I want you to eliminate the bandits, who will not pose much of a threat to your forces. Then if you can, find out where her Khalasar is. Two thousand swords and much more will prove that we can be a valuable asset in her fight to regain her birthright,"

"Understood, but may I ask, why you are so interested in the Targaryen princess?" Ellion asked Griff. Griff looked up and looked him straight in the eye.

"Because I had business with her family during the Rebellion. You remember how I'm originally from Westeros, right? I...served her father, Aerys and her brother," Ellion knew Griff was originally from Westeros, and so was he. He didn't know, who his real parents were, but he knew they were from the Seven Kingdoms.

"As a mercenary right?" Ellion told Griff.

"More of a military advisor, really, than a true mercenary…" Griff's voice sort of trailed off after that point, a twinge of regret echoing as he spoke, "Anyway, point is. I want you accomplish the mission and write to me when you have finished. Then, if it is accomplished well, I will make you the replacement, Captain, is that understood?" Griff ordered and asked him.

"Understood"

"Good. Now go get some rest for the night, I already have a room rented and prepared for you in this inn. It may be crowded, but that's the life of a wandering mercenary right?" Ellion nodded and immediately left, pondering on where, from whom, and why he had heard her name before.

Ellion ended up sitting on the bed still fully armored still pondering on the reason or origin of where he heard Daenerys Targaryen's name before. He had heard it from someone from way before she had been discovered with her dragons, which are enough to intimidate Ellion, who felt his skills in combat made him a smooth operator operating correctly on the battlefield. Ellion thought about where he might have heard the name, and realized something. Yes, something. More like a memory, that he had somehow forgotten over the years, but now it stuck out the most. It happened six years ago, when he was still a mercenary in training under Griff in the very same city he was in Volantis.

* * *

 _Six Years ago, Volantis_

 _Ellion's body ached after a hard training session. He had bruises on his face with little bandages that looked like some paper stuck on his face underneath his eye. He was a small boy for his age, barely taller than five foot and a fourth inches tall. He was skinny, and even though he had learned swordplay two years ago, he was barely capable as he was now. Every training session his body was battered, and at times he felt like giving up. But he knew if he wanted to be the best swordsman in all of Essos, no not just Essos, but the entire known world. Ellion was wandering around Fishmonger Square, which was not as crowded tonight. He felt the cool night air as he perused the stall, he probably couldn't afford to buy. He still had the tourney blade he had used to practice sheathed in a makeshift elastic scabbard. His mind was wandering off, still reeling from a hard day at training._

 _Until he ran into someone, literally headfirst sending him reeling backward, and the person to the ground._

 _Ellion still dazed from a head to head collision with another human being, found a girl, who looked younger than him, but not by much. She had silvered hair and purple eyes, and those were features that struck Ellion. Those were not common features, and he couldn't recall what they were from. She definitely wasn't from Volantis. Feeling bad, he extended a hand, to help her up. She decided to take it._

" _I'm sorry," she said meekly._

" _You shouldn't be, I ran into you anyway," Ellion muttered, "You're not from here are you?" The girl looked shocked to hear this, and looked like she didn't know how to respond._

" _I...I'm not from here. I'm not from anywhere near here actually," She responded, "Are you from Volantis?"_

" _No, my um… Guardian told me he brought me here from the Seven Kingdoms," Her eyes widened when she heard this._

" _You were born in Westeros?" she asked him, her purple eyes sparkling. Ellion nodded and they got into a conversation. It seemed like they were standing in the square talking for hours._

" _What happened to your face?" she asked him._

" _I ran into a wall," Ellion lied hoping not to involve her in anything._

" _Really?" she replied, "You really have a habit of running into things...or people." Ellion couldn't help, but smile, which he really didn't do much even as a child._

 _Suddenly, before they could continue, he heard someone yell something from across the square, but even that was a little fuzzy in Ellion's memory. The girl went to that someone, but before she got far, she called back to him, "I didn't get your name!"_

" _Ellion...just Ellion," Ellion stated back._

" _I'm Daenerys. Daenerys Targaryen,"_

* * *

 _Present Day_

He can't believe he let a memory like this escape from him. It had been longer than he had expected it to be, since he had actually met her. But as things came back to him, they had shared more than one chance encounter with her. Yes, he had talked to her more times. And as he remember he met her more often when Fishmonger Square was not busy and they talked about things children talked about. He told her about his training, and she talked to him about what had been happening in her life. She seemed scared of something, and she seemed lost. Ellion always remembered that about her. Ellion never knew she was actually exiled royalty and it never occurred to him that they never should have even shared what he thought was fleeting friendship.

Too be honest, Ellion did not care for royalty. Their lavish lifestyle and their ignorance of the struggles that people like him had to go through made him sick. _Their living in a fairytale that was tearing at the seams of life._ But from what he could tell from Daenerys during the time he spent with her in Volantis, was that sometimes things could prove him wrong sometime. She seemed like any normal child, with her own needs, and being denied what she rightfully deserved by other people. Then he remembered their last ever conversation, the time he found out she was an exiled princess. Until then, she dropped hints about her past, but left him clueless when she found out he was clueless about her name or heritage. Ellion wasn't sharp in trivial matters like Lords and Ladies and did not pay attention to it as he had no interest in the people with so called titles. He remembered the last time they ever spoke to one another.

 _About Five Years ago, Volantis Docks:_

 _It had been eight months since they met in Fishmonger square. Since then, Ellion grew. He was about just over five feet and a half. Volantis was the only place that he knew and he hoped to see the world when he grew up. Ellion knew that in his heart that he would be one of an explorer, someone who wanted to see everything the Gods created for him. In the seven months he had spent with her, she had helped him get out of the shell he put himself in. Besides Griff, she was the only one he could call a friend, and many times she called him one too. Now they sat near the water, on a small pier in Volantis. An empty one no one used anymore. This was a rarity in Volantis as most were usually filled with many different people. Each pier was usually busy with activity, but ever since five successive ships that originated from the pier never returned. She had matured much ever since he had met her in Fishmonger square, but she had grown a little taller, and her figure began to mature and grow curvy. Ellion had also changed. He was still skinny, but he was not did not look like a scarecrow anymore. He wasn't thin and gaunt, but instead he had put on some weight in muscle and sinwewed flesh. Ellion, now a boy of fifteen, knew that his time would soon arrive in the future. So they sat on the pier observing the sea. For some reason Daenerys seemed enthralled by the sea, which happened to scare Ellion a little. Ellion barely knew how to swim and felt boats were a watery grave._ Curious girl _, Ellion thought._

" _I've been in Volantis for almost a year now," she told him, "And in all honesty, I'm amazed by it." Ellion sighed a little._

" _When you lived in Volantis for all your life, you'd wish to be in other places," Ellion rubbed his face, his voice raspy from practice. Ellion still had bruises on his face, and of course the signature mark of his individuality. And suddenly her face and tone turned serious._

" _My brother says we're leaving Volantis on the morrow," Daenerys told him directly. Now in Ellion's mind this changed a lot of things._

" _Why? I understand from what you told me in other conversations with you, you don't stay in one place, but how come you have to leave now?"_

" _I haven't very honest with you El," she told him._ El _-it was the name only she had called him by. She told him his name seemed like a handful to say. He told her the same thing, but he always called her by her name, Daenerys. He felt like giving people shortened names or nicknames always meant he had something more to remember._

" _What haven't you been honest about?" Ellion asked curiously._

" _You see most people would know who I am, when I told them my name. Especially when I first told you my name, I expected you to know who I was," Daenerys told him._

" _Well everyone has a unique name, I just can't get how your name makes you recognizable," he told her._

" _Well I feel like I should just tell you now, before I go, because I would feel bad about leaving you in oblivion," she began, "I'm the Princess of Dragonstone and my brother its king. He's traveling around the free cities to gather support, because the throne of Westeros is rightfully his. I've been living in exile since I was an infant."_

How about that, _Ellion told himself, "Well princess, I'll just tell you it's been a pleasure having you as my only friend." Ellion adjusted his sleeve to hide the greyscale scars he had received during infancy. Luckily it had not spread to his face and it somehow only got on his arm._

" _The pleasure is mine as well, Ellion of Volantis," that was the first time she called him with his first name for a while. Along with that a title, this girl was a surprise indeed. Then she handed him something a locket._

" _What's this?" Ellion asked._

" _It's a miniature portrait of me, I just had it made last week, sat in a studio for some time. Something to remember me by."_

" _Well since you gave something, I might as well give something back," Ellion stated. He loosened a the knot of his headwrap, which looked like a bandana, "Here it's not as thought out, but it's something for you…"_

" _I'll treasure it, I'll use it to remember all the times we spent in this city…"_

* * *

Present Day

Ellion searched a chest he just pulled out after he remembered all his time with her. How did he forget about her after such little time had past? Griff always told Ellion he had known this to be his weakness. He forgot many events in his life due to his engrossment in things he did. Ellion only remembered certain events when something reminded him of it. Then he took out something that he had probably just hastily thrown into chest. It was a silver locket and when he opened it, it was a portrait of the girl he had met six years ago in fishmonger square. He was about to be twenty, and his mission to get the support the princess under the orders of Griff, might give him a chance reunite with his long lost childhood friend.


	29. ACOK Daenerys I

**A/N: Sorry about the late upload, I had activites booking me all throughout the weekend and I should have given a heads up to that. I almost never upload on weekends, but since it's Sunday, I might as well give you guys a chapter. This is in Daenerys' POV and while it's technically supposed to occur in ACOK, this has been moved to be the last chapter of Act II, when she meets Ellion and he gives her a proposition. We resume Stafford's chapter either tomorrow or Tuesday (I'll surprise you all about its update date, as it signals the beginning of the War of *Four* Kings Arc (Act III-IV). I'll also respond to reviews at that time, and while this chapter is not as polished and as consistent as I wanted it to be, I wanted it to be the last Eastern POV for probably the next three or four chapters. Anyway, here's the chapter**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Daenerys_

The Dothraki named the comet shierak qiya, the Bleeding Star. The old men muttered that it omened ill, but Daenerys Targaryen had seen it first on the night she had burned Khal Drogo, the night her dragons had awakened. It is the herald of my coming, she told herself as she gazed up into the night sky with wonder in her heart. The gods have sent it to show me the way. Yet when she put the thought into words, her handmaid Doreah quailed. "That way lies the red lands, Khaleesi. A grim place and terrible, the riders say."

"The way the comet points is the way we will go," She dare not turn north onto the vast ocean of grass they called the Dothraki sea. The first khalasar they met would swallow up her ragged band, slaying the warriors and slaving the rest. The lands of the Lamb Men south of the river were likewise closed to them. They were too few to defend themselves even against that unwarlike folk, and the Lhazareen had small reason to love them. She might have struck downriver for the ports at Meereen and Yunkai and Astapor, but Rakharo warned her that Pono's khalasar had ridden that way, driving thousands of captives before them to sell in the flesh marts that festered like open sores on the shores of Slaver's Bay. "Why should I fear Pono?" Dany objected. "He was Drogo's ko, and always spoke me gently."

"Ko Pono spoke you gently," Ser Jorah Mormont said, "Khal Pono will kill you. He was the first to abandon Drogo. Ten thousand warriors went with him. You have a hundred." That much was undeniable. Most of the able bodied warriors had left her, and now she was stuck with the sick, the women and children, and a small group of loyal warriors. But she had one...no three things that Khal Pono did not have.

"I have the dragons," she pointed out.

"Hatchlings," Ser Jorah said. "One swipe from an arakh would put an end to them, though Pono is more like to seize them for himself. Your dragon eggs were more precious than rubies. A living dragon is beyond price. In all the world, there are only three. Every man who sees them will want them, my queen."

"They are mine," she said fiercely. They had been born from her faith and her need and her fire, given life by the deaths of her husband and unborn son and the maegi Mirri Maz Duur. Dany had walked into the flames as they came forth, and they had drunk milk from her swollen breasts.

"No man will take them from me while I live." Her resolve was firm. She had sacrificed much for her to gain these dragons. Once they become fully grown, not even a million men would be able to stand against her. Then she could claim what was her from the Usurper's son. When the Usurper had died, she had heard that there was uproar in the Seven Kingdoms. It was definitely an excellent time for her to invade when her dragons matured enough, and she hoped the Seven Kingdoms would stay in chaos. From what she heard, House Baratheon was divided between two factions now, House Baratheon of Storm's End and Dragonstone under the rule of the second son of the Usurper, Stafford Baratheon, and House Baratheon of King's Landing under the rule of the supposed heir Joffrey Baratheon. Apparently, through what Ser Jorah told her, Stafford Baratheon had decided to kidnap a Stark girl during her father's execution at the hands of the king, and now he had decided that he wanted the Kingdom as well. _Like father like son, both were dishonorable, savage cutthroats._

"You will not live long should you meet Khal Pono. Nor Khal Jhaqo, nor any of the others. You must go where they do not." Dany had named him the first of her Queensguard. . . And when Mormont's gruff counsel and the omens agreed, her course was clear. She called her people together and mounted her silver mare. Her hair had burned away in Drogo's pyre, so her handmaids garbed her in the skin of the hrakkar Drogo had slain, the white lion of the Dothraki sea. Ser Jorah Mormont had been sworn to protect her brother Viserys, but when he went mad, he protected her.

 _However frightened my heart is, when they look upon my face they must see only Drogo's queen_. She felt older than her seventeen years. If ever she had truly been a girl, that time was done. Three days into the march, the first man died. A toothless oldster with cloudy blue eyes, he fell exhausted from his saddle and could not rise again. An hour later he was done. Blood flies swarmed about his corpse and carried his ill luck to the living.

There was little forage in the red waste, and less water. It was a sere and desolate land of low hills and barren windswept plains. The rivers they crossed were dry as dead men's bones. Their mounts subsisted on the tough brown devil grass that grew in clumps at the base of rocks and dead trees. It was indeed the hardest of times that she ever experienced in her life, because although she had struggled and fought for everything in her life she now had fear for others now. She no longer just cared about herself. That got her to thinking about many things in her life.

Each evenfall as the khalasar set out, she would choose a dragon to ride upon her shoulder. Irri and Jhiqui carried the others in a cage of woven wood slung between their mounts, and rode close behind her, so Dany was never out of their sight. It was the only way to keep them quiescent. "Aegon's dragons were named for the gods of Old Valyria," she told her bloodriders one morning after a long night's journey. "Visenya's dragon was Vhagar, Rhaenys had Meraxes, and Aegon rode Balerion, the Black Dread. It was said that Vhagar‟s breath was so hot that it could melt a knight's armor and cook the man inside, that Meraxes swallowed horses whole, and Balerion. . . His fire was as black as his scales, his wings so vast that whole towns were swallowed up in their shadow when he passed overhead."

"I would name them all for those the gods have taken. The green one shall be Rhaegal, for my valiant brother who died on the green banks of the Trident. The cream-and-gold I call Viserion. Viserys was cruel and weak and frightened, yet he was my brother still. His dragon will do what he could not."

"And the black beast?" asked Ser Jorah Mormont.

"The black," she said, "is Drogon."

But even as her dragons grew stronger, her khalasar withered and died. Everyone struggled to find a way to survive. Animals like horses dropped dead in their tracks. The blistering heat of the steppe made sure that everyone felt miserably hot when they traveled in the daylight, and if they decided to travel at night to try to traverse to a dry cold waste.

"Does this waste have no end to it?"

"It has an end," he answered wearily. "I have seen the maps the traders draw, my queen. Few caravans come this way, that is so, yet there are great kingdoms to the east, and cities full of wonders. Yi Ti, Qarth, Asshai by the Shadow. . ."

"Will we live to see them?"

"I will not lie to you. The way is harder than I dared think." The knight's face was grey and exhausted. The wound he had taken to his hip the night he fought Khal Drogo's bloodriders single handedly had never fully healed; she could see how he grimaced when he mounted his horse, and he seemed to slump in his saddle as they rode.

"Perhaps we are doomed if we press on. . . but I know for a certainty that we are doomed if we turn back." Dany kissed him lightly on the cheek. It heartened her to see him smile. I must be strong for him as well, she thought grimly. A knight he may be, but I am the blood of the dragon.

They made camp before the remnants of a gutted palace, on a windswept plaza where devil grass grew between the paving stones. Dany sent out men to search the ruins. Some went reluctantly, yet they went . . . and one scarred old man returned a brief time later, hopping and grinning, his hands overflowing with figs. They were small, withered things, yet her people grabbed for them greedily, jostling and pushing at each other, stuffing the fruit into their cheeks and chewing blissfully.

The hrakkar had been much bigger than Dany, so the pelt covered everything that wanted covering.

"I‟ve brought you a peach," Ser Jorah said, kneeling. It was so small she could almost hide it in her palm, and overripe too, but when she took the first bite, the flesh was so sweet she almost cried. She ate it slowly, savoring every mouthful, while Ser Jorah told her of the tree it had been plucked from, in a garden near the western wall.

"Fruit and water and shade," Dany said, her cheeks sticky with peach juice. "The gods were good to bring us to this place."

"We should rest here until we are stronger," the knight urged. "The red lands are not kind to the weak."

"My handmaids say there are ghosts here."

"There are ghosts everywhere," Ser Jorah said softly. "We carry them with us wherever we go." She wondered what he meant by that.

 _Yes_ , she thought. _Viserys, Khal Drogo, my son Rhaego, they are with me always._ She wondered if lost memories were ghosts too, but she would dig deeper than she needed to then. "Tell me the name of your ghost, Jorah. You know all of mine."

His face grew very still. "Her name was Lynesse."

"Your wife?"

"My second wife."

"Very beautiful." Ser Jorah lifted his eyes from her shoulder to her face. "The first time I beheld her, I thought she was a goddess come to earth, the Maid herself made flesh. Her birth was far above my own. She was the youngest daughter of Lord Leyton Hightower of Oldtown. The White Bull who commanded your father‟s Kingsguard was her great uncle. The Hightowers are an ancient family, very rich and very proud."

"Who made the match for you?"

"Our marriage makes a long tale and a dull one, I don't to bore you with the details," Although it looked as though Ser Jorah was pained by telling their story, Daenerys was nonetheless curious. It seemed like she had mastered the Art of Breaking through, something that she wasn't exactly proud of.

"I have nowhere to go," she said.

"Please."

"As my queen commands." Ser Jorah frowned.

"My home. . . you must understand that to understand the rest. Bear island is beautiful, but remote. Imagine old gnarled oaks and tall pines, flowering thorn bushes, grey stones bearded with moss, little creeks running icy down steep hillsides. The hall of the Mormonts is built of huge logs and surrounded by an earthen palisade. Aside from a few crofters, my people live along the coasts and fish the seas. The island lies far to the north, and our winters are more terrible than you can imagine, Khaleesi.

"Still, the island suited me well enough, and I never lacked for women. I had my share of fishwives and crofter's daughters, before and after I was wed. I married young, to a bride of my father's choosing, a Glover of Deepwood Motte. Ten years we were wed, or near enough as makes no matter. She was a plain-faced woman, but not unkind. I suppose I came to love her after a fashion, though our relations were dutiful rather than passionate. Three times she miscarried while trying to give me an heir. The last time she never recovered. She died not long after."

"I'm truly sorry for you," She stated and Ser Jorah nodded meekly.

"To celebrate his victory, Robert ordained that a tourney should be held outside Lannisport. It was there I saw Lynesse, a maid half my age. She had come up from Oldtown with her father to see her brothers joust. I could not take my eyes off her. In a fit of madness, I begged her favor to wear in the tourney, never dreaming she would grant my request, yet she did. "I fight as well as any man, Khaleesi, but I have never been a tourney knight. Yet with Lynesse‟s favor knotted round my arm, I was a different man. I won joust after joust. Lord Jason Mallister fell before me, and Bronze Yohn Royce. Ser Ryman Frey, his brother Ser Hosteen, Lord Whent, Strongboar, even Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard, I unhorsed them all. In the last match, I broke nine lances against Jaime Lannister to no result, and King Robert gave me the champion‟s laurel. I crowned Lynesse queen of love and beauty, and that very night went to her father and asked for her hand. I was drunk, as much on glory as on wine. By rights I should have gotten a contemptuous refusal, but Lord Leyton accepted my offer. We were married there in Lannisport, and for a fortnight I was the happiest man in the wide world."

"Only a fortnight?" She wondered why it was only for such a short time. _What would happen to Lynesse?_ _Or more importantly how would Ser Jorah manage to cope with how he lost her._ For all she knew, he had not even gotten over the fact that she was lost to him.

"A fortnight was how long it took us to sail from Lannisport back to Bear island. My home was a great disappointment to Lynesse. The rest. . . I did things it shames me to speak of. For gold. So Lynesse might keep her jewels, her harper, and her cook. In the end, it cost me all. When I heard that Eddard Stark was coming to Bear Island, I was so lost to honor that rather than stay and face his judgment, I took her with me into exile. Nothing mattered but our love, I told myself. We fled to Lys, where I sold my ship for gold to keep us." His voice was thick with grief, and Dany was reluctant to press him any further, yet she had to know how it ended.

"Did she die there?" she asked him gently.

"Only to me," he said. "In half a year my gold was gone, and I was obliged to take service as a sellsword. While I was fighting Braavosi on the Rhoyne, Lynesse moved into the manse of a merchant prince named Tregar Ormollen. They say she is his chief concubine now, and even his wife goes in fear of her."

Dany was horrified. "Do you hate her?"

"Almost as much as I love her," Ser Jorah answered. "Pray excuse me, my queen. I find I am very tired." She gave him leave to go, but as he was lifting the flap of her tent, she could not stop herself calling after him with one last question. "

"What did she look like, your Lady Lynesse?"

Ser Jorah smiled sadly. "Why, she looked a bit like you, Daenerys." He bowed low. "Sleep well, my queen."

Dany shivered, and pulled the lionskin tight about her. _She looked like me._ It explained much that she had not truly understood. _He wants me,_ she realized. He loves me as he loved her, not as a knight loves his queen but as a man loves a woman. She tried to imagine herself in Ser Jorah‟s arms, kissing him, pleasuring him, letting him enter her. It was no good. When she closed her eyes, his face kept changing into Drogo's.

She had heard the longing in Ser Jorah's voice when he spoke of his Bear Island. _He can never have me, but one day I can give him back his home and honor. That much I can do for him._

Before she can drift off into her own dreams, Ser Jorah into her tent. Daenerys was a little scared, but he had serious look in his eyes.

"There's a bit of a situation outside…" His low voice said.

"What's the matter? What could be troubling us?"

"Three thousand swords from Volantis apparently, their leader is asking for you. We thought we were being attacked when we saw them marching towards our camp. They provided food to our people, so I'm sure they aren't hostile...for now," _Three thousand swords from Volantis of all places. What in seven hells were they doing so far from Volantis?_ She knew she had better check this out herself. She pulled up her furs so that she was covered, she didn't want any of what she was assuming was male soldiers taking advantage of her. She made sure to put all three of her dragons on her shoulders, to make sure they were at least awestruck if not intimidated.

Once she got out of her tent with Ser Jorah, she noticed the bustle of soldiers moving in their camp. They had basically set their stakes in their makeshift camps as well, as they were setting up tents for the night. Not like she could do anything about it, they outnumbered her troops and they looked much more fresh from the travel then she could notice. Ser Jorah led her to a tent that her people did not put up. It was large, and looked like it had just been freshly set. Nothing prepared her for what she saw when she entered the tent.

In the tent she saw someone eerily familiar, and from her memories she knew, who it was when she had processed the image of the person standing before her. Behind a table, which besides a giant map, of what she presumed was Essos, were three people. There were two rugged looking fighters, and they flanked someone she had almost completely forgotten of. He was older now, clearly, no longer the boy she had met in the Square long ago. He no longer had the sticky linen next to his cheek. He still had his light green eyes, and the blond hair she had remembered he had, even though he wore a bandana concealing it once.

"Hi, princess. Do you remember me?" he stated. The boy she had met at the square had definitely changed since the first time she had met him. In fact, if he had not said that statement, she would not know that was the boy she met at the square. The only thing that gave him away was the blond hair and the green eyes, which even then she found to be one of his most distinguishing features. "We've been looking for you, princess. I have some things that I wish to discuss with you."

"I'm sure you can discuss them with her with me around," Ser Jorah spoke for her. With the tone of his voice, it seemed like Ser Jorah did not trust him. But then again, if he was planning anything malicious towards her and her group, he could have easily done so. The warrior Ellion had two thousand swords, all of them trained mercenaries. Her little group was dwarfed in size not mention in skill and condition.

"If it's alright with you, Ser Jorah, I'd like to talk to her privately. How about we drop our guards, escorts and knights, and spend some time alone, like we did five years ago." Ellion requested coolly.

"How do we know you won't try anyth-" Daenerys stopped Ser Jorah before he could continue.

"Whether he meant to or not, he helped us Ser Jorah, he has food and other things that he has provided our people. He, at the very least, can have that one request," She told him. Ser Jorah seemed like he was ready to object, but the words escaped him. He simply nodded. Ellion said some things to his men.

The men left and followed suit, once she said the words and almost reluctantly Ser Jorah also left the tent. And almost at the speed of Khal Drogo on horseback, it was only Ellion and Daenerys were left in the room. The situation the two of them found themselves in was much different from the days they spent in the Free City of Volantis. Ellion was clearly some sort of mercenary now, which she came to expect, because of what he had been. Ellion had changed into a young man, and Daenerys was no longer a little girl. She had been widowed once now, and she had experienced many things most grown women would never be able to experience in their lifetimes.

"You can get some more clothing if you'd like. All we have are some leather jerkins that might fit you, but it's better than covering yourself with… Fur," Ellion told her.

"We can deal with that later," she told him.

"Suit yourself, why don't you pull up a chair?" He said casually as he literally got a chair from the corner of the room and placed it across from her. She followed suit with him and they sat down on the table face to face. The table seemed much smaller than it had been, as she could reach across it if she stretched far enough.

"So, it's been a long time hasn't it, Ellion?" she told him. Ellion grunted a little.

"I did not come here for a reunion, Princess. Although it came as an added pleasantry to know that I would finally meet you again after all these years," Ellion replied gruffly. Before she knew it, Ellion grabbed out some sort of portable board.

"What's that?" Daenerys asked him curious what was in the board.

"Cyvasse, I always bring around a board. Want to play?" Ellion proposed.

"Aren't we supposed to be discussing something though?" She told him.

"I can discuss it, while we play. Unless you don't want to play," Ellion offered bluntly. Ellion didn't seem to be the type to play Cyvasse. It was a complicated game, and he seemed to be more keen in hitting things that doing anything like that. The game was widely played in Volantis, though so she wasn't exactly the most surprised when he told her he played it.

"I'll play," She stated

"Don't expect me to go easy on you," Ellion cracked his knuckles. Before long they set up the pieces, "White or Black?"

"White," She stated. She had studied some of the game during the time she wandered the free cities. It was more commonly played in Lys and Volantis, although it is also seen in other Free Cities. Maester Illyrio had one set of Cyvasse in his household. She made her opening move when she advanced her horse.

"Anyway, I came for one purpose," Ellion pressed as he moved his rabble to open up some of his pieces.

"What did you come here for?" Dany asked curiously. She had moved her light horse in response to his opening. Ellion continued moving his pieces outward, and he continued moving forward with his pieces. This continued for a bit as the pieces began developing. But even then, he hadn't answered her question.  
"I came to help you, princess. If you have the coin that is. I have two thousand fresh swords, and our leader has eight thousand swords that will join your cause," Ellion declared as he moved his King. Not many people even used their king until the end game, yet Ellion had done so now. Either he had a plan, or he was really foolish. "I don't have the coin to hire that many mercenaries…" She let out as sigh as she made her move. Ellion still had the silent, stoic face as he continued moving his pieces.

"My leader told me that you needn't worry about the payment...yet," Ellion said. _What did he mean by this?_

"What do you mean?" She asked him wondering what the terms were. She knew everything came at a price, but what were his terms.

"What you need to worry about is proving your cause to the two thousand currently under my command," Ellion started moving some more of his pieces. Ellion and Daenerys continued moving pieces in silence, until she spoke up. They were nearing what looked like the middle game, where Daenerys had already somehow shot down Ellion's Dragon with a trebuchet.

"Proving my cause?" She asked him. She thought she had him by cornered in the game now though.

"Yes, you have two month according to the boss. I'll send my final report to the boss once the two months is up. That will decide whether we will allow you to have our services, and get the rest of the ten thousand," Ellion stated. Ten Thousand swords was a great amount of troops, and it would bolster her numbers. Two thousand already more than helped her.

"And what decides whether my cause is just?"

"You'll see, princess. You'll see. Just remember you still need to pay us if you do prove worthy. Once you have the coin of course," He replied, "Checkmate."

Stunned Daenerys saw that her king was trapped, now threatened by both of his horsemen, spearmen and to her amazement, the king. She could not get out of the situation without giving up her king.

"How did you-"

"I've been playing this since I was a child, Daenerys. Anyway, if you agree to the terms, simply say so. If not I leave tonight. What do you say?" He asked plainly, with the calmness of a still pool of water. As much as she thought this might not be the wisest of action, she was in need of manpower badly. A group of two thousands swords and a possible eight thousand more was too good to pass up. She would take a risk on Ellion and his little mercenary band.

"You got yourself a deal."

Ellion nodded in response to this.

"Good. Now how about we get you some clothing?" Ellion stated with a look of discomfort in his face. Daenerys smiled. _I guess even mercenaries have decency._


	30. ACOK Stafford I

**A/N: Alright, this isn't a very long chapter and there are definitely more things that I could have put. I had to write this one in a hurry, as Finals for tests are next week for me and I have to study. Hopefully, you all will enjoy this chapter. Stafford arrives in Storm's End, appoints people to the council and does a little planning. But more importantly, he reunites with Edric Storm. After about a few more chapters, the first battle will begin, but it will be in Robb's POV, as the war will start in the North. Stafford will enter into the riverlands conflict, but after the three months of mobilization. Then he proceeds to the Westerlands, to try to strike at the Rock. Reviews will be pushed back to next chapter as I don't have enough time to respond now. Thank you for all the support**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Stafford_

Storm's End. The giant castle built upon Durran's Point was what Stafford would call his home from now on. They had spent nearly a month navigating the treacherous high seas, going through some storms, and finally they had hit Storm's End. There was no safe anchorage in the cliffs of Durran's Point, so they had to use a secret passage to the castle itself. Since there was no such anchorage in Storm's End due to its location, they had no port. Therefore, at least according to what Stannis had told him, they had kept three quarters of their navy in Greenstone or even Weeping Town. Dragonstone held the final quarter of ship, that they had, but they did not worry about a naval invasion of Storm's End, as no one was getting through Durran's Point by sea. The only way to take Storm's End was through direct land confrontation. And Stafford knew that Stormlanders fought till death and beyond, even in the face of a siege.

Stafford stood on the stern deck of the ship, observing the monstrous castle as it towered above it. He saw the jagged cliffs that extended to the bottom of the sea below them. Those cliffs could definitely cause a ship wreck, especially at night. _That's why Stannis didn't allow us to begin our approach to Storm's End until the night._ Stannis had guided only two ships from the fleet to make the final approach to Storm's End. He had to disembark Fury, because only _Stag of the Sea_ was small enough to fit in the cavern entrance. He stood by Stannis, who had made sure he was on board when they entered the cavern. He didn't want a mistake to happen, causing Stafford to get stuck in the cavern. He wouldn't be able to fight a war then.

"I haven't been here for years," Stafford told Stannis.

"You better get familiar with it fast then. This will be your seat of power for the duration of this war," Stannis told him, "We need to dock fast and get you to the castle, so that we may discuss certain arrangements for you." _Arrangements?_

"What do you mean by arrangements?"

"You are a _king_ , Stafford. While you haven't captured all of the Seven Kingdoms yet, you are still a king. We need to get matters like your small council, your _kingsguard_ , and everything else before we begin,"

"I've only just arrived in Storm's End, and I already have important business to take care of…" Stafford paused, "Can't I just not attend the small council meetings like my father did?"

"And where is your father now?" Stannis said with some harshness in his calm and deep voice.

"Point taken. So what other things do we need to do? I honestly just want to get to the fighting…" Stafford stated.

"There will be plenty of fighting when the war begins, Stafford. That I can always assure you."

"Indeed," a grim whisper filled his ear. Stafford turned his eyes away from the approaching Storm's End, and turned to see who it might be. It was Ser Barristan, already in full combat gear. His resplendent white plate armor shone like a star in human form, pale as the whites of his eyes and etched in golden scrollwork. He wore a longsword at his side and an alabaster kite shield upon his arm. His long hair and beard streamed from his face, his warm eyes crinkling happily upon seeing stafford.

"We're not going to be besieging Storm's End, Ser Barristan," Stafford jested, "Why in the seven hells are you in full combat attire?"

"I must make sure my mind and body is prepared at all times," Ser Barristan told Stafford, "You never know what might happen. You need to expect the _unexpected._ "

"We're nearing the cavern now. If you're easily seasick, or if you hate tight spaces, you might want to go below deck," Stannis suggested. "On the second thought, head to the quarters instead. Below decks are going to be even more cramped."

"I'm not afraid of anything,"

"Suit yourself then. And when we dock in the caverns, do tell your _lady_ we have arrived. She might think we shipwrecked into a cavern, and that will cause unwanted panic in her," Stannis stood strong and regal on the ship's prow. _Did he just try to make a joke?_

"Noted." Stafford stated as _Stag of the Sea_ entered into the cavern.

After having to clear some of the obstacles that were used to defend the castle from the cavern, Stafford, Stannis, Ser Barristan, Odyn, Sansa, and even the squires were all dropped off in the secret passageway leading to the basement level of the drum tower. This little underground sea cavern was the only way to bypass the defenses of Storm's End. But even when they docked the ship, which immediately left to rejoin the fleet somewhere in the Summer Sea, to go to their final destination of Greenstone, to rejoin the rest of the navy, the group was accosted by some guardsman, which numbered about one hundred. There was always a detachment of garrison placed here to make sure no one would use this loophole in defense to get into Storm's End.

"Your grace, we have been waiting for your arrival. Lord Renly would like to see you immediately," One of the guardsman stated. Stafford simply nodded, and the rest of the people accompanying him followed suit and followed the guardsman.

They managed to traverse the intricate passageway, and at last after a short journey, they made it to the dungeons of Storm's End. Every single person imprisoned in the dungeon, which was only two to be exact, glared at Stafford's group as they passed by. Sansa stayed close to Stafford, especially when they passed by some criminal, who was almost a head taller than Stafford. Even Stafford shuddered as he passed by the heathen. A smile was carved into his cheeks, and his eyes were lidless as he stared at the procession. Stafford would have rather traversed the crypts, but even then the crypts were located somewhere else. The Storm Lords didn't want to be buried anywhere near the passageway. Even in death, they were paranoid that they would be the easiest to raid if they were located where the dungeons were.

"What a… Charming abode." Odyn declared as they finally climbed a stairway out of the dungeons. Dusting his lamellar clad shoulders, he coughed lightly.

"You should see Dragonstone's dungeons. You'll be surprised how many pirates we have to imprison before they are executed at Dragonstone," Stannis responded matter of factly.

Once they were out of the dungeons, they finally managed to get out of the basement level of the tower. Finally, they managed to get to the Great hall of Storm's End. And as soon as they entered the hall, they were finally greeted by someone who had been waiting for some time.

"You finally decide to show up, nephew," Stafford's uncle Renly stated surprisingly in his green armor flanked by some knights that Stafford had recognized as Ser Herbert Bolling and Ser Cortnay Penrose. Renly held out a hand for Stafford and Stafford shook it.

"I don't know what you'd do without me, Renly," Stafford jested.

"I don't what I'd do either, Stafford. I could imagine I would still be fighting against Joffrey regardless of whether or not you decided to follow through with our plan, that's for certain."

"You know me Renly, a fight is not a fight without me." Renly chuckled.

He then turned to the others in the group, "Well I hope you find Storm's End to be better than King's Landing. The servants will show you to your quarters if necessary. Some of you might be sleeping in the barracks if need be."

"Where will I be staying?" Odyn asked Renly.

"Surely, a guest quarters shall do for now. You all should be getting some rest after I heard of the battle that happened while you all escaped."

"Better than the barracks at least,"

"That it is. That it is." Renly stated. Stannis and Ser Barristan stepped forward while servants showed the two squires, who had survived the fighting.

"Excuse me, Lord Renly, but can you show me to my quarters?" Sansa asked him. Lord Renly stated.

"You there," He beckoned a servant. "Show the lady to her quarters. Or if you'd prefer, she can show you to Stafford's quarters. I'm sure he wouldn't mind sharing a bed with you." Sansa turned red and Stafford turned in shock.

"I-don't think I'm ready for that…" Sansa managed to say.

"I'm not either!" Stafford yelled.

"I didn't see you complaining about the arrangement I made with Stannis that set you up with her during your journey here."

"So it was you who made a share a bed during the journey!"

"Who else would it be, Stafford?" Renly mocked him. Stannis immediately cut the conversation up abruptly.

"There will be plenty of time to catch up after we take care of some _important_ business," Stannis sternly instructed. Stafford and Renly immediately got a little more serious, as the two of them knew they did not want to upset Stannis. He was a valuable ally, and it to their benefit them to see that he is not upset...or enraged.

"Fine, let's get to the small council chambers and discuss business," Renly replied calmly.

"We have a small council chambers?" Stafford asked, surprised by this.

"Well, we basically converted the tactician's room in the barracks into a small council chamber. It isn't as big or as sophisticated as the one in King's Landing, but it'll do." Renly replied.

"Let me have a few words with Sansa, and we'll get down to business,"

"Just make it quick for now. You two will have plenty of time to _bond_ later." Renly, Stannis and Ser Barristan made their way to the pseudo small council chambers, while Stafford and Sansa were left alone in the main hall with the servant of course. The servant simply wandered off to a nearby area, while the two of them talked.

"How are you holding up," Stafford asked. He wanted to know what she was feeling. Granted, after she lost her father to a brutal execution at the Sept, she might not exactly be feeling to elated about that. Stafford knew and experienced how the loss of his father was to him. To him it was devastating, to lose such a presence in his life. While intuition told Stafford reasoned that he spent a great deal more time with his father than his other siblings, even his mother, because of their common interests of hunting, combat, and of course food, he felt that Robert Baratheon was something he strived to become. Not the King Robert Baratheon, who spent most of his time as a king whoring and drinking his life away, but the Robert Baratheon, who was Lord Paramount of Storm's End. The Demon of the Trident, one of the finest warriors with a warhammer or any weapon for that matter in the history of the Stormlands. The man, who vanquished Rhaegar Targaryen in single combat, the man, who only lost ONE battle in the entire Rebellion, and brought the Targaryen Dynasty to its fall. It was much greater loss to her, though as her father had always been there for her, even though he was a high Lord in Winterfell. Stafford hadn't spent a great deal of time with Lord Eddard Stark, but he knew that he was an honorable man, who had the trust of his father for good reason.

"Fine. Just fine." Sansa told him. Stafford could still sense the sadness in her voice, but he knew that he done the right thing. He couldn't just abandon her in King's Landing leaving her at the mercy of his brother Joffrey, while he was off fighting a war on his own. He couldn't imagine having to try to get her back, or try to fight a rebellion to get her back, like his father had done with Lyanna. Stafford wouldn't allow anyone to take her, and if someone did, they were going to fight his attempts to get her back to the death of him.

"Listen, I know the loss of your father caused you much grief. I can never forgive those who caused it, even if it is my own brother. Mark my words, you will get your retribution, that I guarantee. But what's important right now is that you are here...safe," he grabbed her by the hands, "As long as I draw breath, there won't be anyone who will hurt you anymore." She smiled at those words and Stafford did too. As they stared into each other's eyes, they felt like the surroundings were not even there. Stafford could only see her, and Sansa could only see him.

"Well isn't this interesting!" Stafford heard a voice say. He was so startled by it, he immediately turned to see who it was. It looked like Stafford was staring into a mirror image of himself, except his ears suddenly doubled in size. They both had inherited the black hair, the deep blue eyes, jawline, and even the cheekbones of House Baratheon. Stafford had some slight, but very slight deviations from Edric, that could make him look a little bit like a Lannister, but one had to look almost at an inhuman view of him to see this. They were about the same age, but Stafford was a year older than Edric. He had his fifteenth nameday recently, according to Renly, but since none of the Baratheons, and his father was sort of dead, he didn't receive the nameday present he usually got from father. Instead Stafford had to deal with the death of his father, not very pleasant for the both of them, "Aren't you two going to you know...kiss?"

"Edric! What did you see?" Stafford demanded now growing deep red. Sansa had her head down trying to hide her embarrassment.

"I saw enough," Edric laughes, "So you got yourself a lady, and I have to say I'm impressed. But she can do better than you though, I mean being almost mirror image of father might set up for a mirror image of Rhaegar to come your way."

"Funny, Edric. It took a lot of sacrifices to get her, I'm not about to lose her,"Stafford laughed.

"I heard. You snatched her right away from my… well your half brother, Joffrey. Renly told me all about his true… parentage," Edric began, "Good on you! Did he cry?"

"I'm not sure he was pretty upset. But that's what he gets for mistreating her,"

"Well said, brother," Edric stated.

"Sansa, I have a little meeting to attend to. I'll see you just in time for supper,"

"Alright," she stated finally following the servant out as well.

"Stafford,try not to get your Stark kidnapped like father did. I don't want you upset,"

"Like I said, brother. I won't."

* * *

"So you're telling me we can raise about raise about forty thousand thousand troops in the Stormlands, but it'll take three months to gather them?" Stafford asked the rest of his little council. Currently the room was composed of people from the Stormlands, Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Herbert Bolling, Ser Cortnay Penrose, Stannis, and Renly were all from the stormlands. There were no others there, so Stafford assumed he could only guarantee that he received the thirty thousand from the Stormlands.

"Unless we can broker an alliance with the Tyrells, that will double our force and given that Stannis can get about ten thousand from Dragonstone, we would have about ninety thousand troops," Renly added in.

"We can also ask for men from the North, I'm sure Robb Stark might spare some men for our cause if we ask him," Ser Barristan stated.

"How much can we expect?"

"If we can wait a year, about forty thousand troops can be raised in the North, but we can't afford to wait that long, so we can expect at most ten thousand, if he even decides to "

"Ifs news about what happened to Joffrey circulated yet. We don't know if Robb Stark would be so forgiving about the actions you took in regards to the betrothals,"

"Last I checked, Joffrey ended the official betrothals when he killed Lord Eddard Stark. Anyway, One hundred thousand or even ninety thousand men is enough to be a large force in the war,"

"Predicting numbers of troops is futile, once we give the call out in the Stormlands, the narrow sea, and other places we might be able to get men out of, then we can plan out our actions with the troops we get. Then we'll see how diplomacy works out with the Starks in the North, and even Highgarden. The figures of troop numbers only estimate what troops we have, for now, we need to focus on other important matters," Stannis stated

"Like what?" Stafford asked rather impatiently. He now knew why father had been avoiding these type of serious meetings. They were both unpleasant and very taxing on the health to attend to.

"One of the important things to discuss is one of the things that caused a delay in the mobilization. You spent almost two extra weeks in King's Landing with your little attempt at saving Lord Stark and literally taking Sansa from Joffrey. We need to discuss the implications of your actions, especially with your little friend, Sansa," Renly began stepping in for Stannis.

"I mean, I know my actions weren't exactly the wisest when it came to Sansa, but I couldn't leave her there,"

"Rumors are beginning to circulate about the degree of your relationship with her. Some are even comparing it to the way Rhaegar took Lyanna from your father. What we decide about it will affect the outcome of many of our goals,"

"When she's ready…" Stafford paused a little bit knowing the gravity of the words he was going to say, "I would like to marry her." Almost utter shock entered the room with these words, but everyone probably knew deep within him, he was going to say this.

"Well Stafford that can't happen now, you two are not of age yet to consider that possibility, she's only fourteen," Renly stated, "But, you are the king, so its not like we can stop you. But think about the other possibilities with those type of arrangement. I mean you could even negotiate with Lord Mace and get Margaery's hand in marriage, probably guarant-"

"I don't want anyone else, I don't want Margaery Tyrell, I don't want anyone from the Stormlands, seven hells I don't even want Arianne Martell, wherever she is. I want her,"

"We understand, Stafford. You have your mind set, and we can't change it. When the time is right all of us will fully support you and Sansa, but right now we have a war to fight and we just wanted to see where you stood on that," Stannis stated

"This meetings is getting a little long, can we discuss the rest later perhaps, I'm rather tired from the journey," Stafford began, "Actually, before we dismiss the council for today, I want to make my first appointments in the council,"

"Well we might as well get this over with then," Stannis replied, "You already know the basic positions, and there are only few in this room, so name and they shall be so," Stannis got out some parchment and waited for him to write things down.

"Alright, let's begin with my hand. Sure, I'm not really much of a king yet, and Renly and I agreed that I got by the title of Lord Paramount of Storm's End to begin with, but we'll have to assign a hand eventually," Stafford began. He paused a moment to think he should appoint. Stannis was better suited to be his Master of Ship, so he wouldn't appoint him. Plus, he planned to give him two responsibilities in the council to make him at least feel important to him, "The hand shall be Lord Renly Baratheon, and once we claim the throne, Storm's End is yours once more." Renly smiled and nodded.

"I'll try not to let you down, nephew," Stannis wrote it down and then looked up at Stafford for the next one.

"For both Master of Ship and Master of Laws, I appoint Lord Stannis Baratheon," Stafford declared. Stannis looked up at him, but wrote things down. He was probably surprised to receive two responsibilities in the small council.

"And lastly for now, Lord Commander of my Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy. As well as Ser Cortnay Penrose and Ser Herbert Bolling to say their vows on the morrow to be the first members to take the white, if they consent " Stafford finally managed to declare. Ser Barristan stood tall, finally receiving his position that he truly deserved. Ser Cortnay Penrose and Herbert Bolling nodded in consent. Stafford finally rose as Stannis put away the parchment.

"Alright, while our work for today is done. We must take this time to rest, and take the time to begin our preparations for war. The war is just beginning, my friends," Stafford declared, "For time and the world do not stand still. Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or the present are certain to miss the future. I aim to not miss the future, as the only thing in the future I can see is victory!" _And so it begins_


	31. ACOK Sansa I

**A/N: What up invaders! MatthewStaffordLionsFan17 here, and its been a long time since we continued the fanfic. Well I'm proud to announce that no, it is not a dead fic, I just spent the last week finish up school, and now that I no longer have to attend high school, I can FULLY dedicate myself to this fic, until it's time for classes again in the fall. This time I enter big boy territory and go through a college. Updates will definitely come much quicker than this, so be aware. I also am proud to announce that after this fic is complete, which is probably not for a while, a free choicescript game will be posted on my personal website that allows YOU to step into the shoes of someone in the A Song of Ice and Fire universe in an interactive fiction novel. This path includes an interactive version of Stafford's campaign, where if you thought Stafford was a girly name, you can play as any name you please, and re live Stafford's journey and pick any romance, any decision, and any allegiance you please. So that means if you really wanted to, you can pursue a romance with Arya instead of Sansa, or even Margaery, or even Arianne if you really wanted that. The choicescript game is a fun project I decided to do. Anyway hope you enjoy the rest of the story that I made, and I'll see you guys two days from now when the next part comes up.**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Sansa_

Sansa had spent a month and a half at Storm's End, and although it didn't feel as good as Winterfell did, it was much better than her stay in King's Landing. Every passing day soldiers went marched into the courtyards from all over the Stormlands. When Stafford had made a call to arms across all the stormlands, the bannerman from all over the Stormlands arrived. From the Dornish Marches to the lone isle of the Estermonts, the people responded to the call to arms. All considered, over three fourths of the expected men had already arrived from the Stormlands. It had exceeded the yield that they had hoped for. Stafford and his advisors had expected about forty thousand troops from the Stormlands alone. However, as if by the grace of the Gods, the people had already provided the forty thousand troops in about half the time they expected the mobilization took place. There were still more coming to Stafford's aid. This army was a threat to be reckoned with. The men of the Stormlands were definitely a powerful force on the battlefield, their ferocity in battle matched only by the brilliance of their commanders.

Sansa was fourteen now, and it had been a year since her departure from Winterfell to King's Landing. She would have celebrated her name day in Winterfell about two months ago, but they were at sea en route to Storm's End during that time. And after all the conflict she had heard from various different places, from the war in the Riverlands where her brother fought with Tywin Lannister, among other people who sought to oppose House Stark. Stafford had kept his men at bay, but Sansa understood more than anyone that he was most likely not going to stay in Storm's End for much longer. Stafford was bold, and she knew that even if all his men hadn't arrived yet, he would spring into action. It was what his father would have done, and his advisors probably understood this perfectly. He had forty thousand men, which was huge, partially, because the Stormlands was a relatively small region compared to the Reach or the North, which allowed for mobilization to be quick. What she worried about is what would happen to Stafford if he were to go out to war.

Stafford was a natural born fighter, and as a necessity of the circumstances, an outspoken leader. However, war changes things entirely. It wasn't some tournament melee, this was where actual lives were at stake. Her father had told her this is why he didn't like tournaments much. _Father…_

Her mind had still not completely forgotten about her father. He had died trying to protect her, her family and everything they held dear. She would never forgive Joffrey for what he did to him. She tried her best to keep her grief hidden from Stafford, who had a war to focus on. But deep inside, Sansa knew that it was hard to hide. Especially since Stafford had lost his father to the Lannisters too. It must hurt him more too that his own kin had killed his father. Stafford, although he didn't look like it, had Lannister blood in him. And yet she still loved him, so it made it even more confusing. To say she hated all the Lannisters would mean that she would have to hate Stafford too, and she knew she couldn't do that.

She tried to keep those types of her thoughts out of her mind. She was safe now, safe in Storm's End. Stafford will return to her when this is all over, and it will all be okay. The problem was this was the mindset that got her father killed. There was once a time where she could believe that no matter what happened everything would be alright, and that nothing bad would happen to her and all she cared about. That time was over.

"Lady Sansa, you are required in the council chambers," someone told her. She turned to whatever she saw. Until she heard the voice, she was at the desk of her quarters wondering what was going to happen in the days ahead of her.

"Ser Barristan, who's requesting me?" she asked him in reply.

"His grace wants to speak to you urgently," Ser Barristan told her. Sansa simply nodded, she wondered what Stafford was wanting to speak about. She followed Ser Barristan out of the room and to the surrogate small council chambers.

They arrived in the small council chambers. Besides the entire current Kingsguard, which composed of the only two members of the Kingsguard, Ser Cortnay Penrose, and Ser Herbert Bolling, there was Ser Barristan the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Stannis Baratheon, Renly Baratheon, and another person whom she did not recognize. He had a long pointed beard, and bushy eyebrows. He stood about three inches above Stafford, an inch taller than Stannis.

"Sansa…" Stafford began, "You're probably wondering why I called you here." Stafford had a serious look about him, and from all that she knew about him, he never really wore that look for much.

"Why did you call me here?" She asked worried about what he might say next.

"I've decided to mobilize our current forces and march for the Riverlands. We will break the standstill and assist your brother with the forces we currently have," she felt the full weight of his words. Now that he was leaving for war, she felt genuinely worried. A lot can happen in the battlefield. She never knew how to fight, but she knew what battle can do to a man. It can change people. And she didn't want Stafford to change. She loved him the way that he was.

"So...you really are leaving," Sansa managed to say with a quiet voice. She could hardly speak. She would likely worry every waking moment of what will happen to him. She couldn't help, but do that.

"As much as I don't want to, there is one truth. The loyalty of Storm's End and Dragonstone does not make me a king. I must unite the realm under my law. Your brother has declared the North to be an independent kingdom. I aim to reunite the realm into one banner, and I will earn his trust once more by helping him defeat the Lannisters," Stafford declared. He was in full dress uniform, many layers of boiled leather and half plate. Stafford went to her and took her hands into his, "This was not the only manner I wanted to discuss." Sansa didn't really know what would happen if anything bad happened to him, but it looked like he was going to say something important to him.

"Once you and I are old enough, I'd like your hand in marriage. I know… I haven't exactly been good at keeping these kinds of promises," He said as thoughts of Arya suddenly filled Sansa's mind. She was the one he was supposed to marry if all this chaos had never happened in the first place. If what had happened at the tournament never happened, she would still be stuck with Joffrey, blind to his real image, "But this time, I don't plan on breaking anymore promises. I know this might sound repetitive, but I want to be with you forever."

Hearing him say that made her heart soar. At least there were still things in life that could make her happy. This came at a bittersweet time, because he was going to be going off to war soon.

"Of course, but a lot can happen in a war…" She said, her voice shaking. Stafford wrapped her in a firm, but gentle embrace.

"Nothing bad is going to happen to me. I won't let them. I'll come back, reunite the realm, and you will be my side as queen. That's the truth." His words were reassuring to say the least, but it still could not calm the thoughts about what might happen during a war. But she knew he had to go, and she was overjoyed to know that they would be together once all this ended. She only wanted her family to be together once more as they were all scattered now. Arya hadn't been seen ever since the her father had been executed at the Great Sept of Baelor, Robb was off fighting Tywin Lannister in the Riverlands with their mother at his site, Bran and Rickon were stuck at Winterfell, and her half-brother Jon was at the Wall, and of course she was in the Stormlands, of all the places she could have been in.

"Not to interrupt your little moment with your lady, nephew. But there are many things to do before your departure on the morrow," Renly managed to say to everyone. Stafford broke off, and stared him in the eyes. Sansa knew he was leaving, but she didn't know he would be leaving tomorrow.

"So you're leaving that soon…" Sansa said softly. Stafford looked at her, he had a pained expression on his eyes. Stannis got up from his seated position at the council table.

"There isn't any other way, to maximize his effectiveness in the conflict, he must mobilize tomorrow. With the amount of soldiers still pouring in, while not as big as the ones we could have, we'll have those soldiers in reserve. We want the Lannisters to think were are going to wait for reinforcements and bulk up in the Stormlands, however that couldn't be further from the truth. We have word that Tywin Lannister is besieging the Riverlands. So we decided the time to act is now," Stannis explained to her.

"We managed to talk Mace Tyrell into letting us pass through the Reach, but that wasn't easy. We had to pay him coin, half our treasury to be exact," Renly told them, "He only gave us twenty days to cross his territory, lest we be attacked on sight,"

"While under forced march circumstances, that can be accomplished in under fourteen days, we had to be on the safe side. We know that marching will result in attrition, but the chance to catch the Lannisters off guard at Riverrun is vital," Ser Barristan added, "I will be accompanying his grace, so you need not worry about his safety milady."

The meeting continued as they talked of strategy. Sansa excused herself from the council chambers and walked back to her quarters for the time being. Along the way, she saw Edric Storm. He was King Robert's bastard, the only one recognized by him in fact. He knew Stafford well enough, and walking by him was a fortuitous event.

"Good evening," he stated, as he tried to walk past her.

"Edric, right?" she asked as he stopped and nodded, "There is something I want to ask of you."

"Certainly, what is it?" Edric responded blankly, his electric blue eyes looking at his feet and back to her. He looked bored, as if there was somewhere else he wanted to be. Just like Stafford, Edric took after his father, Robert. Sometimes if he had his back turned you could think it was Stafford. Edric was just shorter than Stafford, but if they were far enough and you can't see the height difference, you might mistake them for one another.

"Are you going off with the soldiers tomorrow?" Sansa asked him. If Edric was leaving with Stafford, it would be a perfect opportunity for her to have a connection with someone with him during battles. She didn't want to ask any of the older nobles, like Renly, or any other person related to him. It would be even better if it were someone, who would not be busy playing a pivotal role in battles. She had heard rumors around the castle that Edric would squire for Stafford, even though Stafford wasn't technically a knight. _Technically_ , the council named him the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, most likely to draw comparisons to his father's rebellion. At least that's what some of the servants have been saying, as Lord Renly still did most of the managing around Storm's End.

"I am, why do you ask?" the bastard said with clear confusion in his expression and voice.

"Can you do me a favor, perhaps?"

"Depends, what is it?"

"I want you to write to me, about all that's going on while Stafford's away. Like what he's doing or how things are," This request seemed to perplex the young man. He simply shrugged.

"I guess, but don't you think he'll write to you anyway? Why do you need me to write about what's going on,"

"I want another perspective of the events," if she relied purely on Stafford's testimony, it might not be reliable, as Stafford might try to downplay some of the events as not to worry her. She wouldn't know if he would do that, but she wanted to ensure she got the most accurate responses for her, "It's just reassurance that he really is doing fine."

"I'll try my hardest, but don't expect to hear from me often. It's not like I'm the one smitten with you," he stated as he walked away. She walked back to her quarters and sat down on her bed side thinking about all what happens.

Time passed, and she didn't know how long she sat in the room alone. Sometimes a servant came into her room asking her if she needed anything, but she just waved them away. She didn't really know what to think right now. Stafford had asked her to marry him, and of course she accepted it. _But what if he doesn't return to fulfill his promise? What if he falls in battle or gets captured by the Lannisters?_

These question filled her head as she continued to ponder on these thoughts. _Such was war_ , she thought. It was unpredictable. Nothing was certain. She realized now that people lost things in war. So many people involved themselves in these conflicts. Because once words aren't enough, and swords are finally drawn, there are so many things that could happen. War was a warning to the people of the realm. The good, the evil, the soldier, the villager, everyone who was involved in the wars that went on. It was the moment of truth, and the moment to lie. It was the moment to live and to die. And no matter, who you were it was the moment to fight. Fight for what you believe in, or fight to protect those you cared about. No matter what side you were on, you were fighting to end the lives of those who were not on your side. Such was reality. _It isn't like the tales of heroism I had always heard as a child. It wasn't like her tales of knights, kings and princes, who came back to their beloved lady after a war against an evil menace. No, in this story, the hero could die and leave his beloved alone… with broken promises. The hero was just like everyone else._

"Do you have a moment?" she heard someone ask. She saw Stafford at the threshold of her door. He was no longer in the same dress mail he had when he was at the planning table with the his uncles and advisors. "I told Ser Barristan not to bother us. This is the last time we might be able to see each other for while until I leave tomorrow."

She just looked up at him, not able to do anything. Stafford approached her, and sat right next to her. He had a look of concern on his face.

"You'll write to me when you leave, right?" She asked him.

"Of course," he brushed some hair off her cheek, "Anything to make you feel better." Sansa smiled. _At least he was trying to make me feel better._

"Just don't be gone for too long," She said drawing closer to him. They didn't have any space between them now.

"I'll end this quickly, I'll promise. And we can be done with all of this business." Stafford strokes her neck. He pulled her in for a kiss, and she complied. She didn't know how long it lasted, but they seemingly stayed there for a while lost in each other's embrace.

Suddenly, Sansa pulled away, "Will you stay with me here. Tonight?"

"Anything for you," Stafford stated. Although the bed was small, they shared it for the night. It wasn't anything intimate, Sansa wasn't ready for that yet, but him being there before he rode off to battle tomorrow was enough for Sansa.

* * *

The morning came too quickly for Sansa's liking. When she woke up, she realized Stafford wasn't there. Afraid that he had left before saying goodbye, she ran as quickly as she could hoping that she could catch up to him. The courtyard was busier than ever today. It was crowded with soldiers armed with spears, and all manner of weaponry. The wore armor, of the same colors, black on yellow. But each of their shields made them recognizable from where they were. There were also what she recognized as sellswords from the Narrow Sea. Despite the sea of people, she could not find Stafford anywhere. A little disheartened, she made her way through the courtyard, until she saw him. He was standing next to Renly, Stannis, and his entire Kingsguard, along with the Dornishman Odyn Sand.

"Stafford! I thought you had already left," she stated. Stafford smiled.

"You know I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye,"

"Make this quick, Stafford. You had a whole month to dally around with her. It's time to do business," Stannis stated sternly. Stannis began to walk away with some of his sellswords. They were about leave by the looks of it. Everyone in the courtyard was frantically trying their hardest to make haste, as the timetable she had heard about started today. They had to get out of the narrow Stormland and cross the Reach in under twenty days. That in itself was an accomplishment. It took almost a month on the road for a non forced march to occur from King's Landing to just the beginning of the North, let alone cross the Reach into the Riverlands. However, it was accomplishable, but the men will likely have to march in the night sometimes. It would probably be hard and taxing for the new army, but they were large, numerous and experienced. _Stafford will be fine, and he will return._ Sansa kept on repeating this to herself to erase the thought in her mind that there was a possibility that he was not coming back to her.

"You take as much time as you need, Stafford. We'll be waiting for you. Damn Lord Mace and his timetable, at least we'll be at the threshold of the Riverlands quick. I'm eager to face the bastard Lannisters in battle," she heard his Uncle Renly remark as he patted Stafford on the soldier and went on his way. Ser Barristan and his two kingsguard decided to stay behind to watch their king, or Lord technically, but he was going to be the king everyone's minds anyway, so it didn't really matter.

"I don't know if I can fight like this. Thinking about you all the time," Stafford muttered almost gloomily. Sansa looked at him to try reassure him.

"Just fight hard, and you'll come back to me in no time at all," Stafford nodded. More people started to pour out of the courtyard as they began to try to begin their march. This was it. Stafford was leaving, earlier than three months she thought he would stay for, but he was riding off to war. Edric approached the two of them with Stafford's mount Orys. The destrier was clad in armor and draped with the yellow and black colors of House Baratheon. Sansa could also notice Stafford was now in half plate armor with a surcoat of House Baratheon. He held his long, two-handed poleaxe on his shoulder. Stafford didn't look like the boy, who had decided to compete at the Hand's tourney anymore, he was a man. He had grown an inch, and he looked like he was ready to fight in the battles he had trained for for his life.

"Your grace, Stannis has instructed me to meet at the rally point just outside the castle gates to prepare for the march," Edric stated.

"Already, that was quick," Stafford stated, before he took the reigns of the horse, he turned to Sansa.

"I guess this is goodbye for now," Sansa walked up to him and pulled him in close, even if he was in half plate armor. She couldn't fully wrap her arms around him. Stafford returned the embrace. Stafford looked her in eyes, and gave her a passionate kiss. Sansa didn't want to break off, but she did. Edric rolled his eyes, and then Stafford mounted Orys, and rode off to meet his uncle. Edric mounted a courser and went to Stafford. Sansa watched as the black haired Baratheon walked off on his horse. Her heart was crossed, and she wondered when she would see him again.


	32. ACOK Renly I

**A/N; What up invaders, MatthewStaffordLionsFan17 here, and today is letspromiseanuploadwednesdaybutwe'lluploadfridayinstead (otherwise known as No Clothes Family Day in the dark realm known as Venice Beach) day. I know it's been a long time since we uploaded, but I did not forget about y'all. I've been treating all you fans with the fan love recently, and have neglected to put in the grind into my stories. It saddens me to tell y'all that I had writers block for over TWO Weeks. Yes, two weeks of writing, but never getting the satisfaction from the product, that I really wanted. So this one was the chapter I am proud of, it is basically me breaking out of writer's block and telling myself, "You know what? Let's not doubt ourselves. This is a good chapter and you don't need to start from scratch, because you think it isn't good enough." Tbh, this was the fourth attempt at writing a chapter as the writer's block got me. I had a tough time trying to find out the direction of the story, but now that I have broken through writer's block, I have outlined the next seven chapters, so this is the last time there will be a long absence. The toughest thing about this chapter was trying to calculate how Stafford and his army would march to the Riverlands in under twenty days. The numbers may be wrong, but I tried, I took out them calculators, and I really tried to make this the most realistic depiction of an army march, but it might come out as unrealistic. This is why the previous three chapters, which were all just as long if not longer than this one were thrown out, and one special chapter was thrown out, because it would mess up the timeline more than I've already had to twist the timeline to make sure this story is possible. So yeah, I gave it my best shot, and even if it isn't exactly the best product, it will advance the story and life will go on. Thank you all for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Next Chapter will be Richard Madd-I mean Robb Stark, and you'll get his insights into the enigma that is Max Iro-I mean Stafford Baratheon**

 **Stannisfan: I'll try to address some of the issues you presented in your review, and since I lost track of review responses, you'll be the only one I'll do for this chapter. First off, you are correct that the timeline is a bit off, but its like that on purpose, so we can set up this chapter. Because if Whispering wood and all those had already happened a month prior, there would hardly be any worthwhile action for Stafford to participate in. However, this chapter will undergo a non cannon battle in, which the Baratheon will capture Pinkmaiden Castle. The execution scene was the best I could come up with without Stafford literally just bursting into the throne room, taking Sansa, and then leaving Joffrey with the, "Look bro, it's been fun, but I'm a steal yo girl real quick, and try take the throne from you," While this would make an interesting tale, and a comical one, I really didn't know how to fix that. Anyway thank you for your kind critiques and all your advice has really given me something to consider in the future chapters.**

 **Sorry for the long note. Hope you all enjoy!**

 _Renly_

The march through the Reach felt a lot longer than the twenty days. Apparently, twenty days was enough for Robb to recapture Riverrun from a Lannister siege. Rumors have been circulating that even the Kingslayer himself was taken during the battle. The march was long, and riddled with attrition. But it was to be expected. They had lost about two thousand, due to desertion and other forms of attrition from their ranks, because of the grueling pace of the march through the Riverlands. However, Renly felt as though their ranks were as strong as they could have been given the circumstances. The army plowed through the route, skipping the Kingsroad in favor for back country dirt roads through the Reach to reach the walled town of Stony Sept, which could have taken an army this massive a month or more to complete, however the army was able to march it in less than twenty days. Most days they had to march over eighteen hours, which seemed absurd, and unethical, but neither Stafford or Renly were willing to take risks. If Mace Tyrell decided to attack their troops in that shape in the Reach, they would both be done for. However, somehow in their grueling pace, they managed to get out of the reach and into the nearest town they could find. It happened to be Stony Sept of all places. If Renly recalled correctly, it was the same town Robert hid in during the Battle of the Bells. Renly was too young to remember all of the stories about all the battles, but to the armies surprised the Riverlords almost welcomed the Baratheon army as it entered. It felt fitting that Robert's son would one day return to the town of Stony Sept with a Rebellion of his own. Against his own _half_ brother no less.

In a surprise move, the townspeople allowed for a the quarter of the troops, but there was nowhere near enough beds to accommodate an army of fifty thousand, so some of the soldiers still had to put up tents near the town to accommodate such a high number of people. Renly had suggested Stafford build his base of operations in the town, so he could be a little more comfortable, but apparently he preferred prefered to stake his tent closer to where the main camp was, which was outside of the town of Stony Sept. Renly knew their army was a major force be reckoned with. If a hastily thrown together army of fifteen thousand could wreak the amount of havoc against a Lannister army, an army of fifty thousand would be able to do work. However, this army was tired from the forced march that they had to undergo, because of time constraints. Many soldiers were complaining to the nurses, and field doctors about aches from their feet. But that's what marching about thirty two miles a day would get you. It was uncomfortable for anyone without a horse. Luckily, Stafford and Renly had horses, and so did their cavalry, so they suffered a lot less than the foot. Most of the attrition were from the foot in fact. _Poor saps, maybe they could get some horse next time._

Stafford called in a war council in the main army camp with all of his advisors there to plot out his next move. The next move would be a crucial step in what their army planned to do for the future. As far as Renly was concerned, they needed to be aggressive. Not as aggressive as force marching an entire army almost three hundred leagues to Stony Sept, but still. The other advisors might have different plans for the army, especially the new commanders of this mostly Stormlord army that was gathered. Fifty thousand men was a force to be reckoned with and the fate of this massive army relied on the decisions made by a boy of sixteen. Renly thought it was funny, but he had full faith in his nephew that he would be able claim the throne, and this ordeal would be done with.

"So here's the situation, after the in the whispering wood, and the breaking of the siege of Riverrun, the remainder of the forces besieging Riverrun have fled towards Golden Tooth. Lord Tywin is in a precarious position. We have appeared almost from nowhere towards the south with an army of close to sixty thousand," Renly began. Stafford nodded, and the rest of the commanders in his army nodded, "Robb Stark has decided to make his move, he is now pushing the aggression against his opponent, but with the small size of his force, he isn't going to last in a prolonged exchange with the Lannisters."

"The boy hasn't been defeated in battle yet," Lord Estermont stated, "My intuition states that with his troop movements, he's planning on advancing on the Westerlands themselves."

"Hold on, before we get into anything I can't even understand, why would he want to advance on the Westerlands? Shouldn't he gather more troops, buy more time, and maybe assault the Joffrey directly," Stafford responded

"That's a naive viewpoint, Stafford. He doesn't have the time or the men to advance. And on top of that our friend, Lord Tywin is too far for us to advance further," Renly stated pointing at their armies position in Stony Sept, "The remainder of the broken force your uncle, Jamie are within striking distance as Golden Tooth is the only place they could run,"

"So we assault Golden's Tooth and take the fight to them!" Stafford proclaimed.

"Again, Stafford that wouldn't be the best move. Yes, the Lannisters are vulnerable in the Westerlands, but our armies are in no shape to make an aggressive push through the Westerlands. If we didn't have to march through the Reach at such a forced pace, maybe we could do that," Renly once again stated, "I'm no strategist, and as much as you and I both want Stannis here to point out the best move we could make, that's not possible. He's busy doing his job threatening your dear brother Joffrey from Dragonstone." Stannis rode south to a better port than Storm's End to go back to Dragonstone. Stannis in a brilliant move is managing to prevent the Lannister's from overcommitting themselves, and launching their own attack on Storm's End while Renly and Stafford helped out in the Riverlands. He only had about twenty thousand, while men were still gathering at Storm's End bolstering the reserve in case things turned sour in the Riverlands.

"So what are we going to do? Sit here and wait?" Stafford asked. Renly knew that his nephew wanted to end the war quickly, and return stability back to Seven Kingdoms. However, with the amount of factions already involved in the war, Renly knew this war would probably drag on for some time. The introduction of a Baratheon host in Stony Sept only made things more complicated. Lord Tywin was a brilliant tactician, and he wasn't someone to take lightly. However, if they lose their advantage, or the surprise they have caused after appearing literally out of nowhere, they might begin to lose effectiveness. They had already spent a good five days of rest without march, and as much as Renly favored a slow methodical march towards their goal, they had to be aggressive and push their advantage in manpower.

"There is another option. Although it's really just a move to show our might," Lord Eldon stated. Lord Eldon was near Seventy years old, and he was his mother's brother. He came alongside, and was the commander of the rear flank of the army. He was supposed to be the commander of the reserve back at Storm's End, but Stafford insisted on bringing the old knight along, because of he was in desperate need of commanders for his host. One weakness of the army was that they lacked experienced commanders. Most of the commanders of the army were just the Lords, who decided to accompany the force the sent to answer the call to Storm's End. It got so bad that Ser Cortnay, a newly minted member of the kingsguard needed to serve as one of the commanders, because of his experience in the field. Renly wondered what Lord Eldon could possibly suggest.

"And what is that?" Renly asked.

"The closest castle to us is Pinkmaiden Hall. There is a remnant Lannister force there, but they won't present much of threat to our forces. If we secure a victory there, it will give us momentum and capturing it could possibly allow the River Lords to see that we are here to help them by reclaiming one of the castles sacked by Gregor Clegane," Not many people really had much to say about the opinion. Renly believed it was a safe plan, as Pinkmaiden hall wasn't at all far from Stony Sept. In fact, it was only a day's march from their position, so they could even stay in Stony Sept for a couple days to recuperate. It's not like Lord Tywin was stupid enough to try to challenge an army of sixty thousand. Sixty thousand men, no matter how tired, was still sixty thousand men. No matter how tired a soldier is, if their life depended on a battle, they would fight even harder than they would be if freshly prepared.

"Alright, so when do we do we march for the castle?" Stafford asked with a gleam of excitement in his eyes. It was clear that he had been itching to fight ever since they left Storm's End. It's all he talked about, and since Renly was the one he frequently heard all his remarks about fighting. Stafford, much like his father, wasn't exactly someone you could keep quiet about things concerning fighting. Renly noticed that the two seemed to be drunk, sometimes quite literally drunk, on the notion of battle and war. No matter how many times you reminded the both of them that there are consequences to action made in times of war, or how many times you decided to enlighten them about the struggle and reality of how wars are fought, they would continue to obsess over battle and the fighting that comes with it. Stafford Baratheon was someone who charged in with his battleaxe, and feared nothing as he charged into them. And although he was relatively inexperienced in real battle along with youth, Renly knew that he would make an instant impact on any battle he participated in. He was equipped with all the natural talents of a warrior, tall, strong and although not the sharpest or smartest, he was adaptable to any scenario. Most of all, Renly knew giving up wasn't in Stafford's vocabulary, and even with his major shortcomings, as Renly believed Stafford had major flaws that he needed to correct lest he end up like his father, he would indeed be a respectable king when he got older.

"While haste is necessary, we will spend an extra day here in the town. Let our troops prepare themselves for their first battle. However, it is imperative that we march at the break of dawn towards Pinkmaiden castle. That way, there might be daylight when we arrive to capture the castle."

"And what if the attackers prepare for a siege?" Renly asked, knowing that a drawn out battle was not what he wanted.

"Pinkmaiden castle is not defensible in it's current state. A majority of the castle was put to the torch by the Clegane. Rumors are also saying that we may receive help from House Piper, as one of their knights left to help drive off the remainder of the Lannister invasion force," Lord Eldon stated. Renly nodded in agreement, knowing that almost all of the advisors simply wanted to end the council as most of the actions have been decided. The rest of the plan would be drawn up before they began the storming of the castle, which Renly was thankful for. He knew plans were important to a success of a battle, but he didn't really enjoy or look forward to discussing strategy.

The council ended shortly after everyone had agreed upon the assault on Pinkmaiden castle. Renly felt it would be an easy operation, and it would help them extend their presence inside the Riverlands. It would let the Lannisters know that this Baratheon host was here to do battle. Renly accompanied his nephew as they both rode alongside one another to survey the condition of their men. As they rode through main army camp together, Renly noticed Stafford had been glancing down at a locket while looking over the condition of the army. When an opportunity to look at what the locket was presented itself to Renly, he took it and managed to see what it he was looking at.

"Ah, it seems being away from your lady has taken quite the toll on you, nephew. How many times do you look at that locket in a day?" Renly joked. Startled and little flustered, Stafford quickly closed the locket, which had portrait of the Stark girl, and quickly shoved it into the small satchel he had attached to his armor.

"What? Umm…" Stafford struggled to find a word to say. When the normally loud and outspoken Stafford Baratheon is reduced to stumbling, it was a sight to see.

"Just make sure you're focused on the battlefield, nephew. The more battles we win, the closer we get to getting stability of the realm in order. And when the realm is stable, you will have plenty of time to spend with her." Renly stated. Stafford was young, really young. He was only a boy of sixteen. Most boys that young don't understand what love truly is. Most high born ladies like Stafford's lady, Sansa, didn't really get what that emotion was anyway. Most of the time, they were mere infatuations, and most of what they felt for one another would fade faster than the passing of a fortnight. That was what Renly thought about Stafford's little interest in the Stark girl, which he witnessed for the first time at the Hand's tourney. He thought his interest in her would fade rather quickly, and nothing more would become of it. However, this quickly changed when Stafford literally risked his life taking her out of King's Landing and taking her to Storm's End. On top of all of that, he broke his own betrothal to another and most likely strained his relationship with a major faction in the war, if he ever found out the details. Renly knew Stafford no matter how brash, headstrong, and stubborn he was would not do all that for a lady he was merely infatuated with. The strange thing he thought about this was he how young the two of them were. And yet, Renly could already sense there was a sense of inseparability in the pair.

"The assault on Pinkmaiden castle will be the first battle I will ever be a part of. This will be much more important than any tournament I've ever been part of," Stafford told Renly. Renly smiled.

"The prize in this tournament is more than just a purse, or impressing a lady. We're fighting for our lives. Truthfully, while I haven't experienced true combat yet, much like yourself, I'm confident in we will stand upon our enemies as victors," Renly stated. He meant it. If he was going to be fighting in a battle, he was going to win the battle. And unlike tournaments where he and Stafford would be taking on squires and knights, the people they would be fighting would be from all kinds of backgrounds. However, in real combat, the blade of an axe or sword, or even the point of a spear would not discriminate based on the the background of the victim. All lives including Lords, Princes, commoners, knights, thieves, vagabonds, and even marauders would be at the mercy of the Gods as the battle rages on. And some part of Renly knew that he had to lay his life on the line for the good of the realm.

"I promised Sansa that I would return to her victorious. I've broke enough promises in my lifetime to know that I aim to fulfill this one. Because I know just one broken promise can ruin even the best of things,"

"I didn't join your cause for a philosophy lesson, Stafford. Because in the battle, you better be prepared. This story is as old as it gets. An ambitious house wants to lay claim to the Iron Throne that is not rightfully theirs. You can promise anything to anyone, and whether or not you deliver is irrelevant. What's important is that we win this war, so you could have the opportunity to say you fulfilled your promise. So, let's show those Lannisters what means to steal the throne from House Baratheon," Renly stated. Stafford nodded in reply. They hastily finished their rounds, and began to prepare their bodies completely for the battle. It wasn't a major battle that would sway the fortunes of the battle. They say that thrones are reserved for kings, and the jewels on their crowns are only meant for those who deserve them. But in reality, if you don't earn the crown in a respectable way. There will be resistance, and this resistance will be the fall of the false dynasty. Rhaegar, Aerys and the Targaryen dynasty fell at the hands of the very house that threatens the Lannister's attempts at corrupting the very good name the house was built upon. This was the chance Renly, Stafford and their armies would prove that in an event a realm is divided in war, the side with the greater courage, zeal and honor would win. And it would prove that war is just not an outlet for physical violence, but it was an art.

* * *

Before Renly knew it, the time for marching and preparation was done. All the gathering, all of the marching, and everything they had built up was for a war that they were entering today. Renly knew that in the grand scheme of things, this would just look like a small skirmish. A skirmish that regardless of whether or they won or lost would end up just being something their troops needed to increase their morale and give them experience that they need to achieve victory in other battles. When they storm the Pinkmaiden castle, it will not be remembered as a major battle that will be sung by bards in songs, ballads, and sonnets like the Trident. However, it will serve as a constant reminder to those who will serve in the battles to come as the place they began the fight. Only ten thousand men were involved in this skirmish, while the rest of the forces remained at Stony Sept.

Renly met in a preparation tent next to the engineering tents next to all the basic siege engines being constructed by the engineers they were able to gather. Although they did not have to make giant siege towers, they had to prepare some basic equipment like siege ladders and battering rams to assault the castle. Their plan was to assault the already compromised castle structure after the Clegane had set fire to the castle walls, and end the battle quickly before it turns into a siege. The last thing that the already tired army needed was a prolonged siege against a weak opponent. It will waste time and worst of all it will waste manpower. Now they were just making last minute adjustments to whatever plans they had left. Stafford looked disinterested in this whole thing, luckily Renly was able to drag him into the meeting or he might have skipped it completely. After long explanations from each of the commanders, Renly summarized the orders.

"To conclude, the first wave consisting of troops led by Ser Cortnay will storm the castle walls using siege ladders. While the men on whatever is left of the castle walls are distracted trying to keep defenders off the walls, Stafford and I will lead the main bulk of our troops in the second wave and batter down the main door. The third wave will hang back on reserve till the second wave breaks through that door," Renly stated.

"Understood. Now enough talk, let's fight," Stafford stated as he boldly walked out of the planning tent without another word. Ser Barristan followed him out of the tent.

"Looks like someone's eager to get started," Renly stated.

"We pray to the Gods that he doesn't do something stupid and get himself murdered on the battlefield," Ser Cortnay stated.

The assaults first wave had started to scale the walls as Stafford and Renly gathered their main assault force just outside the doors ready to bang it down. The host was prepared to storm the castle as soon as the battering ram team got done ramming it down. The clanging of the gate continued, as wood chipped away from the door. From the pressure against the battering ram, there were fighting men fighting actively against the battering ram.

"Surrender the castle now, or we'll continue banging, understand!" Stafford yelled with his booming voice. Renly realized that his voice carried so well in the battlefield. Even amongst the banging of the people ramming the door down.

Then from atop the castle walls, Renly heard a voice shout, "We're not giving up till our last breath. You may as well leave now, because you are not getting through our impenetrable WALLS!"

"I'm NEVER leaving!" Stafford shouted back as the men continued battering down the walls to make way for the advance. With great haste, the castellan began to get gather more men, as the doors began to start giving way. Renly knew that they had to batter the door down fast, or they might get large boulders, or any object the defenders could find to prevent from getting into the castle. The last thing Renly wanted was to have multiple boulders dropped on his head, and dying in his first battle. Renly was equipped with his normal green plate cuirass with matching plate greaves and boots. Stafford was wearing his regular half-plate to keep his mobility in a fight instead of his full plate armor. Stafford only rode full plate when riding or mounted. It was interesting as his fighting style required him to take some punishment from attackers. Yet he had some agility with him as well, and his quickness made it so he didn't need much armor to keep receiving blows and punishment.

Suddenly with a great sound the gates gave way, before the men from atop the castle walls could inflict any damage on the troops that had already attacked.

"To Arms!" Stafford stated as he brandished his battleaxe. With a mighty cheer, the men almost at a sprint flooded the castle gates. Only about ten men rushed to meet close to five hundred men in the first line of the the second wave of about six thousand men. Renly was surprised that they could all line up ready to attack the castle as they all crammed together the men necessary to flood the front walls. As the men continued pouring in, Renly, Stafford, and Ser Barristan and Ser Bolling, the only other member of Stafford's kingsguard, quickly joined in the rush of blades as the men engaged. Renly taking caution made sure to let the pawns do the dirty work, allowing the soldiers to take care of opponents that caused an immediate threat to him. He used swift blocks with his shield to keep them off him, and made sure that no spear got in between his guard. He was fighting for survival, not for heroism. Stafford did the exact opposite. While Renly stood back, Stafford relished the heat of the battle. His axe was like a counter to the song of blades as they continued to sing in the distance. Renly could not believe how he just barreled into the thick of the action, taking on multiple enemy soldiers at a time.

The defenders fought valiantly, but were no match for the sheer numbers, and the display Stafford put on for his men. For someone so young and inexperience, he was able to yell orders out to his men, when he noticed something he didn't like. His voice carried throughout the sounds of battle and as Stafford dispatched defenders as they began to try to stop the incoming flood of enemy troops. The soldiers got behind their leader, as nothing is more boosting to a soldier's morale than a fearless leader, who stood by his men. Stafford might not even be doing that on purpose to rouse the men's spirits. In Renly's mind his personality and the way he fought people with brutal efficiency, transcended anything he'd ever seen before. If this was how an experienced warrior, who got by through pure heart and courage, and a fighting style that was hard to analyze, then the man Stannis described as his brother Robert during the Rebellion must have been invincible. The amount of potential Stafford had in combat was astounding in Renly's mind. Renly could see Stafford dispatch foes using style that made his opponents believe they had the upper hand, but then experience a brutal counterattack like none had ever seen before. After Renly dispatched some of the men that had somehow gotten through the impenetrable offensive assault, he could see the men break out into a raucous cheer as enemy began to break.

Some of the men from the first wave had begun to join them, as he could see some of the men descend from ladders that were connected from the upper wall of the castle. Stafford, Renly, and the other men, who had joined them from the first wave began to aggressively drive back the remaining defenders, who had presided over the castle. Renly could not believe the fervor the men fought with. Even after the long march, he could see the men charge into battle like they had been fighting in a tournament. Renly even saw old Ser Barristan cut down a few men, who almost got too close to Stafford. This was also a benefit to Stafford. His Kingsguard was no joke. His reckless fighting had caused many openings for the opponents to sneak in a blow that would incapacitate him. If he is incapacitated, the tide of the battle would turn quickly and all the advantages that they had gained would quickly disappear into oblivion. However, Ser Barristan and his kingsguard would block out all of the assault against Stafford, dispatching archer's arrows with a swift shield block, or gutting any spearman, who dared try to sneak in a cheap blow while their King was busy pulling off miracle kills with his axe.

Quickly the defenders did the only thing that they could do, and that was to shut themselves into the main hall. However, this was an exercise in futility. Before the men could even shut the doors, and get the castellan inside to safety and prolong the battle, but a stroke of luck or a stroke of perception saved them.

"There trying to lock themselves in! Full charge on that door!" Stafford roared. The order was so loud that even Gods themselves might have heard it from the heavens. The men quickly saw that they were all withdrawing to try to take themselves into a safe position inside the castle. However, Stafford led a valiant charge. Arrows bounced off the plate of his armor, luckily not hitting his weak spots. Renly sighed as he dispatched some of the people left behind. Stafford manage by pure strength or sheer will to literally burst through the gates with his soldiers and prevent the people from shutting the gates down. However, this came at the cost of him receiving some sword cuts to both of his arms. Renly quickly ran to him, as he saw the pain in the boys eyes. Those two cuts weren't simple cuts either, they were deep enough to cause pain from what Renly saw. However, his kingsguard intervened just in time, before the defenders could cause major damage. Stafford, with some surprise energy right after getting gashed in the arm, literally swung his axe with such furiosity that when it hit a fully armored knight, he left the ground and hit it with a sickening thud.

And then it occurred to Renly. Stafford from the moment he had stormed the castle had made his first live kills as a warrior. This wasn't an accident like what he did to the Frey bastard in the tournament, he had meant to kill someone and so far, he had killed many of the opponents he had come across. The castellan knowing that he could save his own life and his men, quickly dropped his weapon as the Baratheon host surrounded him. He got down on one knee and removed his helmet. Stafford with a smile on his face lowered his weapon, and began to show some pain on his face as the wounds have probably just hit him as his adrenaline dropped. Quickly his kingsguard and some of the fighting men surrounded him and began to escort him out of the throne room, as the fighting had just stopped.

"Lord Renly, your grace, the defenders in the ramparts have surrendered," Ser Cortnay stated as he entered the throne room before Stafford could leave. For someone, who had just won his first battle, Stafford seemed like he was a little more in control of his actions. Stafford nodded as he stood next his kingsguard. The surrendering castellan left by the Lannisters knew defeat was finally at hand for him. So he just lowered his head.

"Excellent, I'll negotiate terms with our little friend here," Renly stated looking at the newly surrendered castellan of Pinkmaiden castle, "Also Ser Cortnay, let the scribe know of the deeds done here today, Stafford, and the rest of his men fought bravely today, and I would like it to be recorded," Ser Cortnay nodded as he left. Renly observed Stafford's face as he exited. Stafford looked at Renly and smiled, but Renly knew that the young boy from the tournament had finally tasted war. And while he realized that some of his misconceptions and recklessness may have hurt him, he had the face of someone, who wanted, no needed more of the fight. Now it was time to deal with the objects with the most undesirable part of capturing and winning a battle, negotiating with the defeated. Renly sighed knowing that fun was over, for now. _On to next one._


	33. ACOK Robb I

**A/N: What up invaders, MatthewstaffordLionsfan17 here, and today is the long awaited update. Was I dead? Did I just forget? Well, I forgot to say that I would be taking a vacation back to my homeland for one month, and it was such a great vacation that I forgot about the update. Hopefully I don't forget to mention this in the future. The fanfic is not dead, it was just there for a month, because I didn't have access to my hard drive for any of this. That's why I've made the switch to writing this fic on Google Drive to prevent things like this from happening. Of course a sane human being would probably just write a new chapter and continue writing from there, but I was on vacation and sadly I felt a little lazy. So here's the chapter. Handcrafted Robb Stark finally receives a letter from Dashing Stafford Baratheon, and yeah. This is more of a filler chapter to catch up with Robb, as not much happens besides a plot change. Instead of Catelyn going to Renly, he's going to Stafford, because Renly is with Stafford. I promise it won't take me a month to update next time. Thx**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Robb_

Robb had done it. He had broken the Lannister siege against Riverrun, something that most common men could only dream of doing. Outnumbered and surrounded, he managed to catch the Lannisters off guard. He not only won the battle, but he managed to capture another prize, the Kingslayer. The Lannisters tried to crush them, but he proved them wrong in the end. Now here he stood, with a crown worthy of a king.

They were unable to find the ancient crown that his ancestors wore. The crown the former Kings of the Winter wore when Aegon the Conqueror defeated the last King of Winter Torrhen Stark, and his ancestor knelt at the Targaryen's feet. Robb felt immense pride in all he had accomplished, and deep in his heart he knew his father would be proud if he saw him now. He knew his mother was, but that was his mother and no matter what happened, she would never think anything harsh about him. _Those Lannisters will pay for taking my father's life, I swear to the Gods._

As they waited in Riverrun's great hall for the prisoner to be brought before them, Robb adjusted his crown to make sure it was set on his head well.

When the guards brought in the captive, Robb called for his sword. Olyvar Frey offered it up hilt first, and he drew the blade and laid it bare across his knees, a threat plain for all to see. "Your Grace, here is the man you asked for," announced Ser Robin Ryger, captain of the Tully household guard.

"Kneel before the king, Lannister!" Theon Greyjoy roared. Ser Robin forced the prisoner to his knees. According to his mother, Ser Cleos Frey was a son of the Lady Genna who was sister to Lord Tywin Lannister, but he had none of the fabled Lannister beauty, the fair hair and green eyes. Instead he had inherited the stringy brown locks, weak chin, and thin face of his sire, Ser Emmon Frey, old Lord Walder's second son. His eyes were pale and watery and he could not seem to stop blinking, but perhaps that was only the light. The cells below Riverrun were dark and damp . . . and these days crowded as well.

"Rise, Ser Cleos." Robb said coolly. This was the first time Robb ever felt that he had the fate of a man in his hands. The first time he felt true power over someone's fate, something that he wasn't quite used to yet. His decision didn't just affect him anymore, it affected other people. He had been in battle, but in battle the difference was you earned the right to the will of your opponent through combat. However, Ser Cleos Frey was a defeated man, someone who had already participated in the clash of wills, but lost. Now he was forced to submit to someone else's will, which happens far too often in war.

Yet it was not the sword that made Ser Cleos Frey anxious; it was Grey Wind. A direwolf was something all men feared. Even Robert Baratheon in his prime would be challenged and uneased by such a creature. A direwolf was as large as any elkhound, lean and smoke-dark, with eyes like molten gold. Ser Cleos had been taken during the battle in the Whispering Wood, where Grey Wind had ripped out the throats of half a dozen men.

The knight scrambled up, edging away with such alacrity that some of the watchers laughed aloud. "Thank you, my lord."

"Your Grace," barked Lord Umber, the Greatjon, ever the loudest of Robb‟s northern bannermen . . . and the truest and fiercest as well, or so he insisted. He had been the first to proclaim her son King in the North, and he would brook no slight to the honor of his newly-made sovereign.

"Your Grace," Ser Cleos corrected hastily. "Pardons."

"I brought you from your cell to carry my message to your cousin Cersei Lannister in King's Landing. You'll travel under a peace banner, with thirty of my best men to escort you." Ser Cleos was visibly relieved. It was definitely not a fate he likely thought he was going to receive by the way he had been eyeing his direwolf cautiously.

"Then I should be most glad to bring His Grace's message to the queen."

"Understand," Robb said, "I am not giving you your freedom. Your grandfather Lord Walder pledged me his support and that of House Frey. Many of your cousins and uncles rode with us in the Whispering Wood, but you chose to fight beneath the lion banner. That makes you a Lannister, not a Frey. I want your pledge, on your honor as a knight, that after you deliver my message you'll return with the queen's reply, and resume your captivity."

Ser Cleos answered at once. "I do so vow."

"Every man in this hall has heard you," warned his uncle Ser Edmure Tully, who spoke for Riverrun and the lords of the Trident in the place of his dying father. "If you do not return, the whole realm will know you as forsworn."

"I will do as I pledged," Ser Cleos replied stiffly. "What is this message?"

"An offer of peace." Robb stood, longsword in hand. Grey Wind moved to his side. The hall grew hushed. "Tell the Queen Regent that if she meets my terms, I will sheath this sword, and make an end to the war between us.

"First, the queen must release my sisters and provide them with transport by sea from King's Landing to White Harbor. It is to be understood that Sansa's betrothal to Joffrey Baratheon is at an end. When I receive word from my castellan that my sisters have returned unharmed to Winterfell, I will release the queen's cousins, the squire Willem Lannister and your brother Tion Frey, and give them safe escort to Casterly Rock or wheresoever she desires them delivered." Robb saw the face of the knight, and surprisingly the knight had something to say about this.

"Unfortunately your grace, there's a slight… dilemma. During Lord Stark's..." The Frey paused, hoping that it would calm the situation down, "unfortunate execution at the hands of King Joffrey, a certain Prince by the name of Stafford Baratheon intervened and well… took Lady Sansa. And according to the other reports, Lady Arya has seemed to have to gone missing." Robb raised an eyebrow. He had heard reports of what had happened during the execution of his Lord father, or rather the public murder of his father, and most of them had told of a struggle. This struggle all involved the second son of Robert Baratheon, or rather according to Lord Renly Baratheon, the only legitimate son of Robert Baratheon, Stafford Baratheon making a grand escape that would provide material for the bards and singers for ages. Each account of the execution was different. One told of a battle where he was able to block Ice, his father's Valyrian steel greatsword, with a castle forged hand axe. Another told of him disarming multiple members of the kingsguard and making a fool out of most of Joffrey's bodyguard. Another bizarre account of the battle told of Stafford riding on a stag shirtless and running over the executioner Ilyn Payne, although the reliability of the account seemed laughable at best. However, all of the accounts, even running over the executioner, told of how Stafford Baratheon snatched his sister, Sansa, some even comparing Stafford to his father's least favorite Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen. Robb and his allies dismissed this as a rumor, and most of the seven kingdoms did so as well, until he caught wind of a decree by King Joffrey himself, which disinherited Stafford, Renly and Stannis, proclaiming them as traitors. However, Joffrey failed to mention his sister and the supposed kidnapping that took place during that day. But it was no secret that Stafford Baratheon had indeed defected to his uncle, and they had gathered quite a large army in Storm's End quite quickly. The rumors about his sister's are simply rumors. No one has heard about them for months now.

"Noted. Secondly, my lord father's bones will be returned to us, so he may rest beside his brother and sister in the crypts beneath Winterfell, as he would have wished. The remains of the men of his household guard who died in his service at King's Landing must also be returned." Robb took some time and took a breath. He still wondered whether what the knight said was true.

"Third, my father's greatsword Ice will be delivered to my hand, here at Riverrun." Robb commanded. It was the Stark ancestral sword, and it will not be put in the hands of fiends such as the Lannisters.

"Fourth, the queen will command her father Lord Tywin to release those knights and lords bannermen of mine that he took captive in the battle on the Green Fork of the Trident. Once he does so, I shall release my own captives taken in the Whispering Wood and the Battle of the Camps, save Jaime Lannister alone, who will remain my hostage for his father's assured compliance" Those two battles were the most hard fought battles that he had ever fought. His men and his allies fought as hard as they could. Capturing the Kingslayer and breaking his siege upon Riverrun cost lives, and he wasn't about to give up what his men died for.

"Lastly, King Joffrey and the Queen Regent must renounce all claims to dominion over the north. Henceforth we are no part of their realm, but a free and independent kingdom, as of the age before Aegon. Our domain shall include all the Stark lands north of the Neck, and in addition the lands watered by the River Trident and its vassal streams, bounded by the Golden Tooth to the west and the Mountains of the Moon in the east." Although he wanted peace, he would not pledge allegiance to the same people that killed his father. He would rule over the North much like how the Starks of old did, independent from any southern ruler.

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!" boomed Greatjon Umber, a ham-sized fist hammering at the air as he shouted. "Stark! Stark! The King in the North!" Robb rolled up the parchment again.

"Maester Vyman has drawn a map, showing the borders we claim. You shall have a copy for the queen. Lord Tywin must withdraw beyond these borders, and cease his raiding, burning, and pillage. The Queen Regent and her son shall make no claims to taxes, incomes, nor service from my people, and shall free my lords and knights from all oaths of fealty, vows, pledges, debts, and obligations owed to the Iron Throne and the Houses Baratheon and Lannister. Additionally, the Lannisters shall deliver ten highborn hostages, to be mutually agreed upon, as a pledge of peace. These I will treat as honored guests, according to their station. So long as the terms of this pact are abided with faithfully, I shall release two hostages every year, and return them safely to their families." Robb tossed the rolled parchment at the knight's feet. "There are the terms. If she meets them, I‟ll give her peace. If not"—he whistled, and Grey Wind moved forward snarling—"I‟ll give her another Whispering Wood." Robb was only a young man, but even then he was definitely meant business. He would defeat any attempts they made when they faced him in battle, that he promised.

"Stark!" the Greatjon roared again, and now other voices took up the cry. "Stark, Stark, King in the North!" The direwolf threw back his head and howled. Ser Cleos had gone the color of curdled milk.

"The queen shall hear your message, my—Your Grace."

"Good," Robb said. "Ser Robin, see that he has a good meal and clean clothing. He's to ride at first light."

"As you command, Your Grace," Ser Robin Ryger replied.

"Then we are done." The assembled knights and lords bannermen bent their knees as Robb turned to leave, Grey Wind at his heels. Olyvar Frey scrambled ahead to open the door. Robb noticed that his mother also came after them to follow.

"You did well," she told her son in the gallery that led from the rear of the hall, "though that business with the wolf was japery more befitting a boy than a king." Robb scratched Grey Wind behind the ear.

"Did you see the look on his face, Mother?" he asked, smiling. The terror of the knight was priceless. Maybe he should bring his wolf to these type of things more often. His opponents might be intimidated into doing his bidding more often.

"What I saw was Lord Karstark, walking out."

"As did I" Robb lifted off his crown with both hands and gave it to Olyvar. "Take this thing back to my bedchamber."

"At once, Your Grace." The squire hurried off. Lord Karstark was a proud man, and after his sons were killed in the battles by the Lannisters, he could not blame the man for seeking vengeance. But sometimes avoiding needless bloodshed is necessary, and even as a boy of seventeen he understood that sometimes if peace can be bargained for without having to force them to comply through the clashing of swords.

"I‟ll wager there were others who felt the same as Lord Karstark," her uncle Edmure declared. "How can we talk of peace while the Lannisters spread like a pestilence over my father's domains, stealing his crops and slaughtering his people? I say again, we ought to be marching on Harrenhal."

"We lack the strength," Robb said, though unhappily. With the men he had, he could only hope to fight a defensive war against the Lannisters. He just didn't have enough men to go against the Lannisters on an offensive. Their forces barely held out during the battles during Tywin Lannister's push through the riverlands.

His uncle Edmure persisted. "Do we grow stronger sitting here? Our host dwindles every day."

"And whose doing is that?" His mother retorted. It had been at his uncle Edmure‟s insistence that Robb had given the river lords leave to depart after his crowning, each to defend his own lands. Ser Marq Piper and Lord Karyl Vance had been the first to go. Lord Jonos Bracken had followed, vowing to reclaim the burnt shell of his castle and bury his dead, and now Lord Jason Mallister had announced his intent to return to his seat at Seagard, still mercifully untouched by the fighting.

"You cannot ask my river lords to remain idle while their fields are being pillaged and their people put to the sword," Ser Edmure said, "but Lord Karstark is a northman. It would be an ill thing if he were to leave us."

"I'll speak with him," said Robb. "He lost two sons in the Whispering Wood. Who can blame him if he does not want to make peace with their killers . . . with my father's killers . . ."

Suddenly, a messenger burst into the door bearing some news with the look on his face.

"Robb Stark, I have been sent here by Lord Renly Baratheon, hand of Lord Stafford Baratheon, Lord paramount of Stormlands and Dragonstone, and Lord of Storm's End. He sent me here as soon as he captured Pinkmaiden castle." the unknown messenger said in a cordial yet rushed tone. Stafford Baratheon, and his uncle Renly no less. More importantly, the messenger confirmed that the Baratheon's were in the riverlands.

"You said, Lord Stafford Baratheon? I thought he wanted to be king?" Ser Edmure, his uncle remarked. It was odd that Stafford hadn't just proclaimed himself King of the Stormlands, and maybe even reignited the Storm kings of old. However, he took the former titles of his father, and not proclaiming himself as king. It was also quite odd that Renly Baratheon was 'protector' of Storm's End, which Robb had assumed was a new title created by House Baratheon. It was probably, because Stafford had planned to give up his claim to Storm's End and give it to his uncle once he united the realm, much like his late father, Robert. It was also clear that this branch of House Baratheon planned to contend against the legitimacy of the house in King's Landing.

"I just proclaim the titles, I have no idea where Lord Stafford's and Lord Renly's ambitions lie. More importantly I have a letter addressed to a Robb Stark." Now that was intriguing, Robb hadn't seen or heard from Stafford since he visited Winterfell. That felt like a lifetime ago. When his family was complete, and his father was still alive. When both of their fathers were still alive. If Renly and Stannis were to be believed, Stafford was King Robert's only legitimate son. But Robb wanted answers from Stafford, and he hoped to the gods that Stafford would explain himself in this letter.

"Hand me the letter," Robb demanded. His mother and uncle watched him receive and break the seal of the parchment used to write the letter. It was the traditional Baratheon seal, not the one Joffrey and his false branch used.

 _To Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North,_

 _My uncle, Renly, should have sent this letter to you as instructed to him. Congratulations on your victories during the battles of the Whispering Wood, and the camps. But, I am not writing to you to express congratulations. I'll get straight to the point. I have an army of close to sixty thousand men, all resting after the short battle for Pinkmaiden castle. I hear from my uncle that you need assistance in the Riverlands. It is no mystery that you will need more than your current forces to fight against the Lannisters. It is also a fact that I am need of more allies to legitimize my claim on the throne that is rightfully mine. So in short words, You need me and I need you. An alliance between the both of us would be most beneficial, so I would like to extend an invitation to negotiate terms of an alliance. Simply reply by sending back a letter of your decision, or even sending an envoy to my camp so we may discuss proper meeting terms. If you don't want to be allies, simply ignore my message. But since I am writing to you with the intent of creating an alliance between our two causes, I would therefore like to keep no secrets from you. Which I is why I would like to tell you this: Your sister, Sansa, is in Storm's End. Do not worry, she is not some hostage that I am keeping to ensure that you cooperate. In fact, if you want to see her, I will ask some of the reserve to escort her to Riverrun once the Lannisters are dealt with. As for Arya, I haven't seen her since my escape from King's Landing. I'm sorry I don't have more answers, but if you even consider just speaking to me, I promise I'll give you more explanations. Hoping for your swift reply._

 _Lord Stafford Baratheon_

 _Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and Dragonstone_

This confirms that Sansa was no longer in King's Landing. Sansa was no longer in the hands of the Lannisters, and from the rest of the wordings Arya was not in King's Landing either. Robb didn't know how to feel about this news. On one hand he had now gotten news that one of his sisters was safe, and while he could only assume that she would be more happy there in Storm's End, out of King's Landing. But at the same time, this only reinforced the rumors of a romance between his sister and the Baratheon prince. While the letter didn't say it straight out, one must be stupid not to know that there was at least something going on in that regard. Stafford literally kidnapped his sister, and since Sansa and Arya looked nothing alike, Robb doubted it was by accident. Robb wanted answers from Stafford, and while he was leaning to being more angry with him than ready to negotiate, he felt that he deserved the right to an explanation. Although, he must admit, even if he had a perfectly good reason, which Robb doubted, Robb knew that the news about his sister Arya running away could also be because of an event that the Baratheon prince caused. Robb wasn't at King's Landing to confirm any of this, so Robb will at least try to hear Stafford out. However, he wasn't stupid enough to meet him right away, because it could very well be a trap, as while Robb believed Stafford to have at least enough honor not to ambush him during a parley, the same could not be said for Renly or any of the advisors in his army. He wasn't even sure if Stafford had enough honor not to conduct a surprise ambush under the ruse of parley from all the revelations that had transpired.

"So what does it say, Robb?" his mother asked him waiting patiently for his answer.

"It says here that Stafford," Robb stopped himself for a moment, "I mean Lord Stafford Baratheon wanted to talk of an alliance between House Stark and House Baratheon." Surprised his mother gave his uncle a look, who also returned it.

"Scouting reports told us that Pinkmaiden castle was 'liberated' by a small host of Baratheon forces, saving Ser Marq Piper the trouble of having to kill any more scum to return the castle to his control _if_ the boy yields it to him," Ser Edmure stated. Robb had heard of about some of the battle. Apparently, they stormed the keep and within the few hours they had gained control of it. There wasn't much garrison to oppose their small group of five thousand besiegers, but the lack of casualties from Stafford's side was astounding. Robb doubted that the mastermind of the tactics used by the Baratheon host was one of the Baratheons involved in the assault. According to reports, Stannis Baratheon, who is a great tactician was lurking in Dragonstone waiting for the perfect opportunity to assault King's Landing. This meant that he wasn't the one, who planned the assault. Stafford Baratheon was not a tactician, and it was clear in what he knew of him that it could have not possibly been him that planned the assault on Pinkmaiden castle. Renly was better at tactics, but he wasn't a master tactician, but it could have been him as the siege wasn't really anything remarkable.

"How big is the host that Renly and Stafford command?" His mother stated.

"According to this letter about sixty thousand," Robb replied.

"They might be bluffing their number slightly, but from the reports about his army, there was a giant host marching through the Reach and to the Riverlands. I would guess he would have that sixty thousand give or take about five thousand," Ser Edmure stated. Both numbers fifty five thousand and sixty thousand was a significant force in an open battlefield. He only had about fifteen thousand from the north, Stafford's numbers were triple his armies size of fifteen thousand at its lowest and quadruple the size of his armies at its highest. It was amazing that they could compile such a number, but then again the Stormlands wasn't as big as the north, and it was one of the faster regions to rally men from. It was narrow and it was open, so it was easy to move through the Stormlands.

"Fifty thousand men is still a significant force. Unless someone kills the boy, Renly, or Stannis, this Baratheon host will prove difficult to defeat in open combat," his mother stated. Robb did not want to risk destruction by angering the Baratheon's and ending up on the receiving end of a loss on an open battlefield. However, he did not trust Stafford enough to parley with him, after all he doubted that he would allow for him to continue his plan to make the North an independent kingdom, "Was that all the letter said?"

"No mother, there's also another um...important thing he mentioned,"

"Well?"

"It says here that Sansa is no longer in King's Landing, but instead she's in Storm's End," As soon as Robb said that, his mother snatched the letter from his hands, and began to scan through it. After a few seconds, she looked up at him.

"We have to send someone to negotiate something with his army. If he truly means no harm to us, we must consider this alliance. It could mean the safety of your sister,"

"Mother, have you forgotten about Arya. According to this, he doesn't even know where she is and he was supposed to _betrothed_ to her," Robb stated.

"Robb, you know that Arya is important to me and I always pray for her to return to us safely. But if we can guarantee that your sister safety without being some hostage, I want to make sure that happens," his mother stated.

"Who are we to send though? We're already understaffed as it is, and sending Robb not be wise as he is needed by the army. Telling them to come here is not an option unless we want a threat of a sizable hostile army in Riverrun," His uncle remarked.

"Then I'll go. I'll do anything to ensure the safety of my children," His mother stated. That was almost pure madness.

"Mother are you out of your mind? We don't know of Lord Stafford's true intentions and it's a huge risk to send you to them,"

"I trust that Renly and Stafford are honorable enough not to try harming me in any way. Sending me as an envoy to Stafford will show that we at least respect them enough to consider their offer to talk," His mother stated.

"It's not like we have any other choice. Every possible candidate is currently busy," Ser Edmure declared. Robb didn't like the idea. He barely trusted the young Baratheon Lord, even if he wasn't a bastard like Joffrey was. He didn't like the idea of risking the safety of his family. However, no matter what he did, he could not even for his own life change his mother's mind when she was so sure about this. And from the look on her face, he knew she was determined to exercise her plan.

"While I hate to admit this, Stafford has an army, the size of which should not be taken likely. Please, don't get yourself killed," Robb stated.

"I don't plan to. I want to reunite this family, and end this war. Stafford Baratheon and his uncles could be the key to ending it, quickly," His mother stated. Robb nodded, and went on his way, praying to the Gods that sending his mother on a mission was not a mistake he'd regret.


	34. ACOK Stafford II

**A/N: What up invaders, Matthewstaffordlionsfan17! Before we begin, I'd like to tell y'all this is a long chapter. It's about 8k just for this chapter, so if the entire things seems unpolished it was such a large chapter that I didn't have enough time to apply the best polish ever. Also I tried my hardest to make characters act in character, but I wanted to get Stafford into a large battle after watching the first episode of Season 7 of Game of Thrones, and then afterwards rewatching the episode trying to find good ways to screenshot my laptop so I can photoshop Max Irons from the White Queen to add my OC in. I mean when you write fanfics you get attached to your own characters and you want to do a blood sacrifice just to add them to cannon. However, that can't happen, so I wrote one giant chapter so I can cope. The chapter takes place in the Riverlands in Stafford's campaign through the Riverlands and it is his first major battle in the Riverlands. He does battle with his grandfather, and while I may have slightly miscalculated Tywin's force, we're just going to say he had about thirty thousand five hundred to spare after he gets rekt by Robb, as if Tywin had less than that, this battle wouldn't be possible, and I really just wanted to write this chapter. This chapter takes place after Tywin has already retreated to Harrenhal, and takes place about a month after Pinkmaiden Hall has concluded. This is to speed up time a little to give Stafford (aka Max Irons) a chance to age to seventeen before the events of ACOK end. Please bear in mind that he also meets Catelyn this chapter, and while I tried my best to keep her in character when she interacts with Stafford, I thought I really didn't do a good job this time of accomplishing my goals. However, I do hope you all enjoy the chapter, and if y'all can leave your charming feedback, please do so. The next chapter will be a hybrid POV, as we will focus on some of the events that happened in Storm's End and then some of the Essos events. Also the iron fleet will arrive on schedule for this rendition.**

 **DarkHarmony312: I can't reveal my intentions handling Robb's fate, but I'm glad you enjoy the fanfic. I mean Robb will have the next Westeros POV after the hybrid POV and the Essos POV, but I believe the war is coming along nicely. However it is still early and the Ironborn haven't even been factored in, so stick around. Thank you for your kind review.**

 **(PS if you PM my please contact my email** **matthewstaffordfan69** **if you want to get a quicker response. I barely check my PMs these days so just shoot an email if you want a quite response. Sorry for the long blurb)**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Stafford_

Battle. The clashing of steel, the test of wills, and the baptism by fire. True warriors relished their chance to test their mettle in combat. Squires and lesser known knights aimed to prove themselves to others through the struggle. But Stafford didn't just fight for the glory and the prestige that comes with prowess in the battlefield. It was only part of it, but not all of it. He loved- No,cherished battle. Every time he heard the song of swords, his heart beat with excitement. When he is confronted with an opponent, he was driven by instinct to make sure his opponent falls. Though many called him brash for his actions on the battlefield, such as charging headlong into wall of shields, or riding his armored war horse into weak pike formations, Stafford felt that the battlefield was a place he was born for. He wasn't sharp in regards to books and intelligence, he wasn't the most well versed in the intrigue of the royal court, and he definitely wasn't prepared to manage an entire house. But one thing he did know how to do was fight, and it also helped that he at least had enough charisma to lead his men. Stafford knew however, that he had not seen the true nature of war. It was true everyone was in high spirits after winning a string of skirmishes as the secured the area of any remaining invaders as they retreated towards Harrenhal. Lord Eldon had suggested that they keep pressure on the Lannister forces as they fall back to Harrenhal. They had fought what seemed like raiding parties sent out by the Lannisters. Stafford recognized one of the raiding parties as being led by Vargo Hoat, who had managed to retreat when Lord Eldon had managed to lure his forging party into trying to plunder a village. Instead of a helpless village, Stafford had personally led a detachment of seven thousand against a small raiding party as a show of dominance in both numbers and strength. The cavalry that came to raid were all done in and massacred save Ser Lorch and a few survivors. These rousing victories like the victory in Pinkmaiden castle, and the ones against the raiding parties, were minor, but nonetheless instilled confidence in the men.

Stafford had participated in every engagement in the Riverlands and he was proud of that fact. In order to win a war, leaders had to participate. While he was younger than most if not all of the men under his leadership, he knew he had to demonstrate vigor and an unyielding bravery in combat lest his men not respect him. His father always told him that the most important thing a leader had to do was earn the respect of his men. _Once you have their respect, they'll have a much easier time bleeding for your cause._ Every day, Stafford still wished his father hadn't died the way he did. He had to admit he was probably only close to his father, because they were interested in the same things. Stannis even told him he acted like his father from during the war too. He was a presence in his life, even though he probably never meant to be. Stafford told himself every day as a young boy that he would be the same as his father. He heard the tales of an unbeatable Robert Baratheon on the battlefield, and in his heart he already admired all of the tales woven by bards about his accomplishments. When he grew older he saw his flaws, but he still admired his father. He was proud that he was his father and despite the many, and there were many shortcomings his father had, he knew that his father was a good person. While his father probably wouldn't like what was happening how he and his brother were fighting amongst one another, he knew that his father would think he was growing up to be a better man. _Father, I will do the best I can to return this realm to peace as you once did long ago._

Stafford and his men had been camped sixty miles outside of Harrenhal, applying pressure on anything that got out of Harrenhal. They had been dispatching raiding parties that Lord Tywin had been dispatching to forage the Riverlands. The battles were minor, defeating these raiding parties put immense pressure on Lord Tywin to either retreat his armies, or risk an open battle with the large army. Sixty miles was a safe distance to where they couldn't be targeted by ranged machinery, or any hit and run raiding parties to try to weaken the force. When news reached the scouts that an unusually large amount of forces were approaching the campsite, led by Lord Tywin Lannister himself. Lord Tywin had quite a bit of manpower, most likely about twenty five thousand or thirty thousand men. He was probably trying to test how powerful his army was. Stafford doubted that Lord Tywin was sending all he had, his grandfather was far too smart to do that. Lord Tywin wanted a fight, a fight he shall have. It would be the first large battle, Stafford would be participating in, something that excited Stafford. He was an inexperienced young warrior, but he was eager to prove himself in a real battle. But before that, he had to undergo an almost mind numbing preparation. Something that he didn't quite like.

"Lord Tywin has decided to leave his seat in Harrenhal to confront our armies directly. The scouts state that a majority of Lord Tywin's remaining host will be participating in the battle," Ser Cortnay stated.

"How much?" Renly stated impatiently.

"About thirty thousand, according to some sources he probably has a minimum of five thousand held back in reserve, who are staying to garrison Harrenhal," Ser Cortnay replied.

"Why would he confront our armies? We have almost sixty thousand men at our disposal, do they not see the threat we pose?" Stafford knew that he wasn't the brightest, but an advantage like that was large, and debilitating to the opponent.

"Lord Tywin seems to underestimate our forces. He thinks we lack the experience his troops have already experienced in the war. Lord Tywin has fought in major battles and he probably also doubts the prowess of our commanders," His uncle Renly responded.

"Not to mention we must also hold back about an eighth of our forces in reserve, meaning that we might not have as large an advantage in terms of numbers," Lord Eldon stated while examining the map on the hastily placed war table, "But we're also on the defensive, which gives us numerous advantages." Now that his uncle, Renly and his grandfather had enlightened him with those variables, it seems the odds were even. Lord Tywin really was a master tactician. Even if he lost the battle, he could do a strategic retreat back to Harrenhal before enough pressure can be used to generate a full rout. At the same time, the advantage could be even, as Lord Tywin's men had been fighting longer than his men have been fighting. There was also no denying that Lord Tywin probably had better commanders than the short staffed army Stafford had.

"We'll show my grandfather that it is a mistake to test a charging stag in battle," Lord Eldon, Renly, and everyone present in the strategies tent all nodded confidently.

"Let's begin the technicalities of plan. First, we will split an eighth of our into two to form both of our reserve. One of those halves will stay here in camp to be our reserve, and the other half will hang back from our main force to serve as our main combat reserve," Lord Eldon explained.

"This means our main host will consist of about forty eight thousand men," Renly observed, "Stafford, you will lead the center, while Ser Cortnay will lead the front during the initial clash. If they try attacking from the sides, they'll have to face me on the flanks." Stafford also understood there were lesser nobles and other experienced commanders helping keep the men rallied while the main commanders fought to prevent disorder from hindering the battle.

"Sounds good to me, if you'll excuse me..." Stafford said hurriedly, trying his best to leave now, so he could get ready for battle. Tactics meetings were boring, and Stafford hardly contributed to any tactical knowledge, because if he did it might end up hindering the bottom line.

"Hold there, Stafford. We are not finished," Ser Barristan responded as he noticed him trying to leave. Looks like he was stuck here.

"Anyway, the plan is to make an impenetrable wall. The front flank will use pike and men at arms to form a defensive wall against all cavalry and infantry. The entire force will slowly advance on the enemy and maintain pressure. The center will gradually replace the fallen on the front and slowly, but surely we'll drive the Lannisters off the center of the battlefield," Lord Eldon started moving some figures on the map representing our armies.

"As long as my axe breaks enough bones and tastes the flesh of Lannister Men at arms, I'll do whatever plan you propose," Stafford grumbled.

"Just don't get yourself killed. You are the reason this army is fighting, you know," Renly reminded him.

"They won't touch him. As long as this Kingsguard stands, no one lays a finger on our king," Ser Barristan swore.

"If all goes well, we'll focus our reserve on the center and send them routing. That would be the best case scenario," Lord Eldon stated. Lord Eldon motioned what he just said on the board, "Although, I doubt the battle will be so one sided. We're on the defensive after all." It didn't matter if they were attacking, defending, seven hells even both at the same time, the Lannisters would be paying a brutal toll engaging his army. Stafford would be seeing to that personally, and he had no way of knowing what his actual reactions were until the battle began, he was confident he could hold his own during the stresses of this combat situation. The Lannisters would be leaving the battlefield battered and bruised. But there was an irony that stuck into Stafford's thoughts. Technically he was the leader of his forces and he was due to his mother also part of House Lannister. So it could be seen that the Baratheon host was commanded by a Lannister, which put a smile on his lips.

"When can we expect to bash steel with my dear grandfather?" Stafford asked enthusiastically. _The sooner his axe tastes battle, the better_.

"Since they began march according our scouts before dawn even broke, we will converge on the site of battle by mid afternoon," Renly stated. Stafford suspected as much. As soon as they dispatched the small scouting group, and they had spotted the host commanded by his grandfather, everyone in the camp knew that they had a fight on their hands on this day. This battle would be the first battle of this scale that this army would face. This would be their first test in combat.

"We've been talking strategy for awhile now. I think it best we stop for now and prepare ourselves for the battle to come," old Lord Estermont added. Lord Estermont, despite the fact that he was in his later years was going to be commanding the rear in the coming battle. Stafford however, felt that his grandfather was a valuable asset to his cause.

"Finally, I know it's has been such great entertainment exchanging battlefield tactics with you gentlemen, but I have other things to attend to."

"Like writing his dear Lady Stark. Honestly, that's all he does besides train. The messengers going back and forth from Storm's End never catch a break," Renly japed much to Stafford's slight embarrassment.

Before Stafford could respond, a soldier came into the tent, which Stafford recognized as the guard. He wondered why he would enter the tent.

"What is it?" Stafford demanded impatiently as he wanted to prepare for the battle as soon as possible.

"My Lord, there's someone outside, who wishes to speak to you," the guard stated.

"Whoever it is will have to wait until after my preparations. There is a battle that needs fighting," Stafford stated. These interruptions were interrupting all of the necessary preparations that needed to be made before a battle of this magnitude had to take place. While Stafford felt that sharpening his axe, oiling his armor, and doing all those repetitive tasks as droning chores, he knew that keeping the condition of his weapons and making sure his mind was as prepared as it could ever be before doing battle could mean the difference between life and death. Stafford wanted to make sure he didn't meet his end out there in the battlefield.

"My Lord, I beg you to reconsider. Robb Stark has sent his mother as an envoy for-" before the guard could speak Stafford interrupted him.

"Pardon me, but did you say Lady Catelyn Stark has arrived in camp as an envoy? Why wasn't this brought to my attention sooner?"

"My Lord, she had just arrived with her escorts an hour or two ago. You were hard at work strategizing, so we decided not to bother you."

"Alright, tell her I'm ready to see her with my dearest apologies that I have kept her waiting," The guard nodded. His advisors and officers within his army were waiting intently for the envoy to enter. Soon enough, she did. Lady Catelyn entered the strategies tent with no guards of her own. She wore simple, but formal clothing. Her dress wasn't the most fashionable, but it presented her in a respectable manner. Her face reminded him of Sansa, which quickly conjured images of her waiting for him in Storm's End to return from the war. It got even worse right before any battle he had partook in. He would always see flashes of her face right as the enemy approached them or when they were approaching the enemy. _I'll come back, I promise._

"Lady Stark, I apologise for the wait," Stafford said courteously, "Gentlemen leave my uncle and I to speak with her." Everyone nodded and left the room. All except Ser Barristan and Ser Cortnay, who stood outside of the tent to keep watch. The only people left inside the strategic preparation were Renly, Stafford, and Lady Catelyn.

"It's been quite some time since I first saw you in Winterfell. You have indeed changed since then, everyone is. Why even my Robb seems to be riding off to war now."

"I wished we could have met on better circumstances. But enough with the pleasantries, you came here to speak to us and speak we shall," Stafford stated. Stafford pulled up some seats for them, and motioned for her to sit across from the table. However, she remained standing, which Stafford didn't really think much of and took a seat. Renly did the same.

"I understand your men are preparing for battle against Lord Tywin. I wish you luck in your endeavors," Lady Catelyn stated. Clearly she was well informed when she came here, or she could notice that every man in the camp was preparing for a the battle. All the sharpening of swords, axes or whatever weapons on the grindstone, and all the pounding of hammers all as they mended whatever imperfections their armor had could be seen and heard for miles. It was clear that the men were at least preparing for battle.

"Same to you and your son. We face the same enemy, and I think it would be most beneficial for us to come to agreement with one another," Stafford stated.

"We have many things we can offer to you, Lady Catelyn. We guarantee that our armies can place pressure on the Crownlands, withdraw and assault the Westerlands, and much more," Renly added. The lady took a breath and looked like she was contemplating to herself. There was a lot to think about. They planned to make the North and independent kingdom, and however nice that may seem, Stafford and Renly both knew that they would not allow them to separate from the kingdom. The kingdom would be united under one king, and this king was going to be Stafford. There will not be multiple kingdoms in Westeros like the time before the Conqueror.

"Indeed you do, but before we discuss agreements or alliances, I want some information," she stated eloquently. Her voice had a certain conviction behind it that resonated through the medium sized tent, "You stated in the letter you sent to my son that my daughter, Sansa Stark was in Storm's End. I want some answers as to why this is." Renly and Stafford looked at one another. Stafford knew that this would be quite a hard thing to explain to her. But they knew that they would eventually tell the truth about what transpired in King's Landing. How Stafford had no idea where Arya, the Stark he was originally betrothed to Stafford in Winterfell, the one he had broken that all important promise to. About what transpired during the escape during King's Landing.

"I won't hide anything from you. If I want to be your ally, I have to be honest about what happened and why your daughter ended up in Storm's End," Stafford began. Stafford began to elaborate on the events in King's Landing. He started from the very beginning, about when they arrived in King's Landing and how he spent time with both Arya and Sansa, who was being ignored by Joffrey most days. He told her of all the tournament and how the dynamic of his relationship with her changed, and confrontation that resulted in Stafford breaking his promise to Arya. He had trouble talking about that moment, because every waking moment in his life he always regretted having to hurt her like of Stafford even blamed himself mysterious disappearance from the Red Keep shortly after all those events went down. Afterwards, he talked about the execution, which the lady clearly intently listen to. He told of the partially failed plan of extracting Lord Eddard and Sansa from the unplanned execution, and of course what had happened to during the event. How Stafford failed to protect him after he almost tasted death or serious injury from Sandor Clegane if it weren't for Ser Barristan's timely arrival. Finally after all of that he discussed the voyage to Storm's End and eventually the beginning of his campaign in the of which led up to now, all of which led up to the battle against his grandfather Lord Tywin and the arrival of Robb's mother. Renly would even help fill in certain details along the way. Renly would give his insight while Lady Stark would sit there politely listening to what he and his uncle had to say.

"And that is all we have to say. I know it might be hard to understand right now, but I'll answer any questions you may have," Stafford stated. Renly shifted in his seat a little.

"So if I understand your story correctly, the reason why Sansa is in Storm's End is because you took her from Joffrey when my husband was murdered," Stafford nodded and so did Renly, "And you do not deny that you did this because you harbor a certain affection for her." Stafford paused for a second knowing full well that she would ask this after all that had happened.

"I don't deny that. In fact to tell you the truth, I will confirm these suspicions and rumors that have been spread throughout the realm. I would give anything to keep her safe and make her happy, until I meet my end or this world does," Stafford stated. He started to feel a little uneasy. Before Renly could back him up with more words, Lady Stark spoke.

"Are those the same words you said to the one you were originally betrothed to?" She responded coolly, her voice like steel. Stafford definitely felt that he deserved some of the reaction. He admitted it, he broke his promise to her other daughter Arya. Stafford knew that she had always been his friend, even when he had arrived in Winterfell and Sansa was still attached to his brother, Joffrey. He had hurt her, and he every moment he hated himself for it. Stafford knew that he had taken her for granted, and when he took a swift blow to the face from her when he literally turned his back to her, even with Sansa's comfort he knew that he would never break a vow again.

"Look, I know after all I have done, breaking betrothals, abandoning friends, and all the selfish things I've done, I know you wouldn't want to trust someone like me. I would be lying to say I'd never do something like that again. I admit it, I'm a selfish person, I don't do what I do to gain the approval of others, I do everything for myself. But from the time I spent with Sansa, I-I know that when you give care and time to others, you truly know how horrible it is to be selfish. Please, I know after all I've done to you and your family, how I fractured the relationship between our houses, and might have even caused Arya to go missing, give me a chance to make it up to you by being your ally," Stafford pleaded. He could notice that even Renly was moved by this rousing statement. Stafford didn't really even try to make himself sound like that. He just tried to be honest, because he knew in his heart that it was not up to him anymore. Stafford knew that even if he was honest with his feelings, he cannot guarantee that Lady Stark would understand or even forgive his actions. Stafford wouldn't blame her, he had hurt Arya, badly and although he tried his best not to.

"While I find your actions far less than agreeable, and I might never find it in my heart to forgive you for hurting someone in my family, we shall put that in the past. And we cannot change anything that happened in the past, something your father never really understood," Lady Catelyn stated with an unreadable expression on her face, "Whatever wrongs you have done to my family and all the actions you have must be laid aside. The primary threat to both of us are the Lannisters. They have both wronged us and it is true that an alliance between our causes would be most beneficial indeed."

"So does that mean you will support us then?" Renly asked with anticipation in his face.

"That is not for me to say. My son, King Robb Stark alone holds the power to make such decisions. I am simply an envoy, but the mere fact that I am here indicates that he has at least _some_ interest in supporting your cause," She explained. An envoy was only a representative sent by a Lord or King in their stead. It was true that envoys rarely came to sign agreements or forge alliances, but if you manage to convince an envoy that your cause is worthy enough, they will be able to arrange an audience with their liege. Then the forging of alliances could truly begin.

"Regardless, Lady Stark, I thank the gods you gave my nephew and I, a chance to discuss the war," his uncle Renly stated.

"I wouldn't have come if I wasn't interested in forging an agreement with both our sides. In truth, I believe due to your manpower, you may be the key to my son's victory against the Lannisters. More importantly, you also hold the safety of my daughter, Sansa in your hands," Lady Catelyn explained, "You stated in your letters that you can take her to us."

"Of course, once we finish dealing with my grandfather, and providing your son allow us to meet our armies in parley in the Riverrun, we will make arrangements for Sansa to visit you and your son," Stafford stated trying to sound as polite as possible. Stafford knew that Sansa's family was worried about her. They haven't heard from her since their escape from King's Landing.

"Visit? I thought you would return us to her so that she may be reunited her family,"

"Ah, I should have probably told you this from the beginning-" Stafford stated but before then Renly interrupted. He didn't know why Renly had intervened, but as soon as he did Stafford felt as if he had been saved by the Gods.

"What my socially inept nephew is trying to tell you is that he and your daughter have both agreed to marry when the time is right," Renly stated. Something he was about to say, but it would have ended poorly with his lack of skill in these kinds of scenarios. However, Lady Catelyn remained hard to read at this moment. She had a solemn, almost composed look on her face. It seems she was truly remarkable at keeping her composure.

"Marriage? Neither of you have announced your intentions to her own family! And after what you have done to my other daughter, how can I trust that you will even stay true to her?" Lady Catelyn exclaimed, voice sharp as glass but calm. Stafford could tell she was upset, but she didn't screech her words, her tone just got more firm and slightly louder. But if someone didn't know the context of the conversation and just heard this, they would probably not understand what is going on. She was clearly addressing Stafford, and he knew that his past actions would not really help that much.

"No doubt you might be upset, my lady. But it would be better if you looked at this," Renly stated. Renly produced something and before long Stafford recognized at as a sealed letter. His uncle gave it to Lady Catelyn, who looked quite puzzled as she took it.

"What is this supposed to be?" she asked his uncle. Stafford was as puzzled as her, he certainly didn't know what it was.

"It's a sealed letter, addressed you. It was given to me by your daughter before we left for Storm's End," Renly stated.

"How come I didn't know about this?" Stafford asked quite confused that Renly had received this letter from Sansa.

"She gave it to me two evenings before we left to march to the Riverlands. She told me not to open it, tell you about it, and give it to either her mother or brother, whoever we meet first. I guess the gods have destined that we all find out its contents now," Renly stated. After some time, Lady Catelyn unsealed the letter, and rolled the parchment open. She began to scan through whatever was written, as soon as she could. Then as expected, she looked up at the both of them, who had been sitting there waiting for her response.

"This is her handwriting, and-it tells me all I need to know," She stated as she rolled the parchment back up.

"What do you mean by the that?" Stafford asked curious.

"From the way she wrote this, I can already tell that she loves you. But I have to speak to her as soon as I can," Lady Catelyn stated. Stafford didn't know what was written, but it seemed to have moved her slightly, "I will ponder a little bit in your camp. I will see you again after battle to discuss all this, before I leave to return to Riverrun." Lady Catelyn immediately got up, said her farewells to both Renly and Stafford and left the tent. Stafford and Renly looked at one another.

"So, do you think we'll ever get an audience with Robb?" Stafford asked Renly. Renly smiled.

"Of course, by the look on her face all we need is to prove that we are truly an asset in a battle. Whatever Sansa wrote to her mother swayed her, and now it is time for us to persuade the Starks on our side, through battle,"

"Finally, something lively. I was starting to bore of all this talk,"

"Then you better prepare, nephew, we have a war to fight," Renly said as he put his hand on Stafford shoulder. _And so our fight begins._

* * *

The calm before the battle is always the most unnerving. The time after the conversation with Lady Stark passed faster than he had expected. He had to prepare himself mentally, as prepare his gear, making his last minute adjustments before the battle. As the host on the defense, all they had to do was wait. They were in formation, a rugged defensive formation formulated by their best tactician Lord Eldon, who was commanding the rear in this battle.

The battlefield they had selected to meet the Lannisters in was an level dry plain. This was hard to find in the Riverlands as many of the plains in the Riverlands were everglades. Stafford sat on his horse in half plate flanked by his Kingsguard consisting of Ser Barristan and Ser Bolling. He definitely needed more knights in his Kingsguard, which Ser Barristan had brought up. There were plenty of knights in his army qualified for that status, so Stafford would deal with the lack of Kingsguard after this battle ended. Not that it mattered. Stafford would gladly take Ser Barristan, Ser Bolling, and Ser Cortnay over all of Joffrey's current kingsguard. He was in the center of the army, not in the Frontline, which had their pikes and weapons at the ready to receive the challenge of the Lannister opposition. He even had the Bastard of Sunspear, Odyn Sand fighting with the infantry in his center, with a lugged spear in hand ready to fight. He had fought in all the battles, and Stafford really didn't know why he had decided to fight in his army and not go back to Dorne. The bastard really was quite odd, in Stafford's mind. The men were eager as the stood in their ranks and files waiting for their chance to meet their enemy. This army had not ever tasted defeat, and Stafford wanted to make sure they would not taste defeat on this day.

Soon, Stafford saw the Lannister men in the distance approach the men. As they got closer, the calm and quiet Stafford's men had experienced had been drowned out by noise of the clanging of boots on the opposition. Stafford saw Ser Cortnay on his horse riding back and forth to the men in the frontlines shouting words of encouragement to the his host. His army clad in the colors of black and yellow, with their banner of a black stag on a yellow background flying in the air, gave cheers as Ser Cortnay spoke.

"Men we stand at the threshold of the greatest battle of our lives. They say they fight like Lions on the battlefield, but even a lion will quiver in fear at the sight of charging stag! We will show them who is the true king of the battlefield, and we will show them the true meaning of what it means to battle!" Ser Cortnay roared. The cheers erupted not only from the front, but to the flanks as well. Lord Eldon had also selected a position where behind them there was an impassable ridges and hills. They were protected from getting flanked from behind, so they truly had to fight. They also had nowhere to run if they broke, so it gave the men the extra urgency to keep fighting, as their lives depended on the success of the battle.

The Lannisters continued to advance as their red-gold colors shimmered as they approached the Baratheons. As they advanced, Stafford could not get the images of what he was fighting for out of his mind. Every time a battle was to take place, his mind would always drift to his beloved. Not only her, but to his promise that he would return to her as a king and she shall be his queen. Stafford looked left and right and saw himself surrounded by the formation of the endless sea of men under his command. The clanging of armored footsteps grew louder, and Stafford knew it was only a matter of time before the first blows of the battle would be exchanged. They had waited on the side, and knew since they would be defending they would give up some ground to the Lannisters. At least that's what was said during the tactical meeting. The Lannisters were planning to put themselves on the aggression, as it was their best opportunity to fight the Baratheons. While it might seem counter intuitive to charge at a much larger force, a smaller force could not stand up to a charge of a larger more aggressive force. According to what his advisors told him, it would be a folly not to use the great mobility a smaller army had to assault them. Not to mention their fewer number makes them less susceptible to arrow volleys when they charged.

Almost at an instant, the Lannister host halted. They were close enough for Stafford to see the weapons of the frontline of the Lannister men. The men were armed with bows, and Stafford didn't have to be a genius to know what they were intending to do with those bows. The Lannister's were close now, and he could see the hosts armor gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Their banners waved behind them, as the mood and atmosphere turned much more serious. Stafford made sure to hang back, because once they arrows flew he had to make sure he was out of the way.

"Shield wall!" Ser Cortnay stated as he went behind the first few rows of his men to be out of the range of the incoming ranged attack. The men morphed into a wall of shields from the front, with spears or whatever weapons they had sticking out from behind. Then the sky was suddenly filled with darts from the above. They looked like small birds as they flew at them at a fast speed. Stafford put his shield up to make sure that he didn't case he got hit. He was far beyond the men in the frontline that were most likely to be hit by arrows, but he didn't want to be killed by a stray arrow ending any chance for him to ever sit on any throne. He couldn't fight if he was dead.

The sound of arrows hitting wood, metal, and even flesh could be heard as the first volley hit the Baratheon host. It was surprisingly effective, as Stafford had seen some men falter and some scream as they were hit by arrows. Another volley came, and then another volley came, but the men held strong as they received more arrow hits.

"Archers!" Stafford heard Ser Cortnay yell from the front. He was supposed to be in his Kingsguard, but the lack of competent commanders in the frontline forced him to command the frontline of the Baratheon host. Stafford could hear the simultaneous draw of the men as they prepared to fire back at the host. The sound of arrows being let loose invigorated Stafford for some reason. He couldn't use a bow even if his life had depended on the outcome of the shot, this meant the retaliation had begun. The Baratheon arrows flew through the air and hit their targets. Now it was their turn to fall, because of arrow fire. Stafford saw some of the Lannister men fall as they were hit by arrows. This was effective, as for some reason the Lannister archers did not respond quick enough to get behind their wall of shields when his host responded to the volleys of arrows. Each side continued to respond with arrows, and even Stafford could tell the Lannisters were being cautious about not over committing to the host by attacking them. The battle was relatively even when they fought like this, as this was the type of warfare Tywin Lannister was used to fighting. If they continued fighting like this, Stafford would lose men. This was where being a good tactician would be most auspicious for him, because he had a loud voice to order his troops to do things. However, if Stafford had given his tactical insight in this situation, his men would probably be slaughtered by the Lannisters. So he was reduced to giving his men words of encouragement as they traded arrows.

"Come on! Hold firm, were not letting these so called lions shoot us down from afar-" Stafford boomed as two members of the shield wall both took arrows to the face. At least they were brave enough to fight in the frontline. Stafford could see the flanks tense up as well when he looked to his left and right flank. There was no enemy charge coming for the flanks, Lord Tywin seems to be keeping his most of his offensive force back, which was a smart man. Lord Tywin wasn't stupid enough to blindly charge his army. He would whittle down Stafford's army as much as he possibly can, and then charge at him when he thought the time was right.

"We can't let Lord Tywin pin our men like this. This might be risky, but Stafford, order the men cautiously advance towards the Lannister line. If they're not going to attack, we'll give them a reason to," His uncle Renly stated on his horse, while observing the enemy lines with a pair of binoculars.

"Hear me! Advance towards the Lannister line! Take the fight to them," Stafford exclaimed. Stafford could even hear how his voice seemed to carry through the battlefield. Even Renly was startled a little bit when he gave the command. His army, with some hesitation, advanced. Ser Cortnay and the rest of the commanders repeated his commands as his army advanced. Slowly, but surely and taking a few casualties from the aggressive push, Stafford's line had come close to melee distance with the Lannister host. Stafford could now see where Lord Tywin was, as expected he was in the rear just observing the battle with his entourage. Renly didn't even need to use binoculars now to observe enemy formation. As expected, Lord Tywin's formation had wanted to stay back, and somehow they had caught him off guard with the command to advance. The host took more casualties as the field behind them was filled with men, who had been riddled with arrows. However, they turned the momentum of the battle and got close. Renly hadn't planned to use the tactic this early in the battle, but they had executed it well. They had somehow become the aggressors, and used Lord Tywin's cautious fighting style against him. _It's time to see how well your army can fight Grandfather._

However like the springing of a trap, the Lannister men sprung into action. The archers immediately retreated to the back before, the Baratheon men at arms could swing their weapons at them or charge in at them. The Lannister men led an uncharacteristic counter charge with brutal efficiency as they slammed into the Baratheon frontline. Stafford saw them pour into the front line, as the archers kept on firing at them as well. The battle continued to escalate as they fought for control of the battlespace. Since it was a plain all that could be heard were the clashing of swords, shields, and the roaring of the men. The battle continued and the Baratheon men were being pushed out, and taking losses due to the ferocity of the Lannister men. Stafford knew that their aggressive advance had caused them to be a little vulnerable. However, the center where all Stafford's cavalry was would prove useful now. He himself led his personal guard, which numbered six hundred, as well as his kingsguard. Renly gave him a look and he knew what it meant.

"Stafford, let's do this! You know what to do," Renly stated as he prepared his flank. It was a formation that had never truly been tested in battle, but if might work.

"Cavalry, hear me! Full charge on the center! Commit to their front and center lines!" Stafford yelled as he put his horse into full gallop. Stafford would use shock tactics. They were in a loose formation in a shape of wedge given room by the amount of men in the frontline had been cut down by the Lannisters. The Lannisters might have expected the center to break as well, but they did not anticipate that their was cavalry ready to catch them off guard.

Stafford and his men collided with the front and the men at arms were not a match by the crashing wave of men that had slammed into their line. Stafford wasn't the best tournament rider, but the one thing he was good at is riding at a high speed while sweeping enemies with his axe. Stafford's fully armored war horse was untouched by the weak attempts of pikes to kill and dismount Stafford. The rest of his men followed behind him, as they struck down the Lannister infantry. Lord Tywin was smart, the only way to face a cavalry charge was to hold them off with infantry and then turn the tide when they had lost the momentum of the charge. However, Stafford and Renly had expected this. As Lord Tywin threw more troops at the cavalry hoping to score kills especially with pikes, he had left his troops mainly archers vulnerable. Not to mention their rear was also uncovered. So Renly's men, who were originally the right flank of the host slammed into the back of the troops that tried to hold off the cavalry. This gave a chance for the broken front line of the Baratheon host to reform. Stafford had seen this all in real time, while he was busy cutting down Lannisters from below. Stafford's axe had sung the greatest song it ever had today as Stafford swung it from his mounted position. Each time he downed an opponent, he got more invigorated. His Kingsguard responded to the call as well, just like the battle in Pinkmaiden Hall, except this time it was mounted. The fight for the center could have easily been placed in a ballad, but in the end, the Baratheon's were able to use their numbers to literally slaughter the ones that had been trapped in the small box by Stafford and Renly's maneuver.

Stafford continued to fight experiencing the thrill of having to fight against the Lannisters. Stafford took in all the sights in his battle. He took in every kill, every detail, even the arrows the narrowly zipped past him. The exhilaration he felt as he and his warhorse began to work simultaneously with one goal in mind to wreak havoc on whatever was in front of them. Each time his axe made contact with the armor or even the flesh of his opponent, and the sounds of the clashing swords and roars of soldiers. His weapon was his instrument and he was the bard. In battle it each opponent were like one more road that needed to be crossed, each decision felt like one more risk to take. Stafford lived his life like there was only one more move to make. Every fiber of his being was focused on anyone who stood in his way. Stafford knew to that in battle is was kill your opponent, or meet your end because of your opponent. And that made the game better in Stafford's mind. Everyone fought their hardest to prevent their opponents from having their way with them.

Stafford and his men continued to push the aggression. Their opponents had been driven back far from the center, and Stafford had taken most of the battlespace. However the peculiar thing was that the Lannister host seemed to have no intention of bending. So Stafford knowing this made a quick observation. He was stunned to find out that the backline of the force, Lord Tywin and his guard were nowhere to be found. Stafford could see their army well beyond the horizon line. Lord Tywin knew he could not retake the battlefield, so he retreated with a slight majority of his men to prevent full rout. Lord Tywin had pulled off another brilliant tactical maneuver. However, this left a leaderless host at mercy of a large army to cover their retreat.

"Full charge! Concentrate reserve, at the center!" Stafford roared. The reserve cavalry was the first to slam into the collapsing Lannister line. Stafford and his center line bashed straight into the line, as they took the full battlefield. The victory was as good as theirs, "Yes! GET IN THERE!"

Before long even the remnants of the what had met them in the battlefield had either died or surrendered. Stafford, Renly and all important commanders and their charges all reformed at the center. The reserve was put in charge of chasing down any stragglers they may have missed. After a bit and as the dusk set in, his commanders finished up their head count.

"So what are the damages?" Stafford asked Renly.

"We lost roughly seven thousand confirmed and another one thousand went missing. However, our friend Lord Tywin paid dearly for it. From their dead body count, which hasn't even finished yet they lost about half of their force," Renly stated. This was a victory indeed, a somewhat costly one which now put his host closer to forty five thousand, which was still large, but it will probably make his host more cautious. One things certain, Stafford's host would not be taken lightly now. They had just one their first major battle.

"We best head back to camp," Ser Barristan suggested, "Wouldn't want to be part of an ambush would we?" Stafford laughed, as he rallied his men to start the march back to camp. Dying in an ambush after such a rousing victory was not appetizing in the least bit to Stafford.


	35. ACOK Sansa II

**A/N: What up invaders matthewstaffordlionsfan17 here! I believe I owe you all an explanation. Sorry for not updating in almost a month, but I have experienced some personal issues that caused me to go on a short hiatus. If you follow my beta profile, you should have seen that until now I was on vacation mode and I was not accepting any request. This is because I needed to get my life together after laid off from my job and having to find a new one. The store was cutting down part time workers, and sadly I was the one they laid off. I figured I needed to get my priorities straight and I took a short break. Again, I'm sorry and I can't promise that it won't happen again, because stupid stuff like that happens all the time. However, I can promise that I will provide more regular updates to Ours is the Fury and my side projects like Ours is not the Fury and the HP rewrite. Again it may seem like I'm making excuses, but I just wanted to be up front. I wanted this chapter to get out y'all, its mostly a filler chapter to be honest, it mostly Sansa reading letters, like it some fan mail or some crap like that, but I wanted y'all to know that this fanfic is not dead and will never be dead. Don't worry more fighting like the last one will continue, and of course we can't forget about that Ironborn invasion. It's not gonna be over till Stafford gets his crown...or dies trying to. I can't promise that I'll keep him alive, hell I bet half of the audience still wants him dead for what he did Arya, but whether or not I kill him is up to me. Please continue to support me, even if I haven't given y'all the love you deserve. Even gave y'all an Edric Storm angst fest, because every time I think of Edric I think of Hayden Christensen and his Anakin performance for some reason. And since the directors and casting department did not cast Hayden Christensen and decided to combine Edric with Gendry, the fanfic is the only thing I can do to quench this odd thought process.**

 **Guest: I mean sure I guess his axe might be lame, but I have an odd theory. I think you may be projecting. I think some random guy with came and maybe stole your girl and then exposed you in front of everyone ruining your budding rap career. Just joking of course, best wishes to you and thank you for your review.**

 **Birdy: I'll try ;)**

 **Charles Caeser: I mean take this with a pinch of salt, but I'll try to update more often. Actually I will update much more often and with better chapter rather than this filler chapter.**

 **Anyway the next chapter will be in Essos, but it will be the only that will be there for a while. Then its back to Westeros and the war.**

 **Thanks and Enjoy!**

Sansa

It had been almost three months since Stafford, his uncles, and of course his host of close to sixty thousand men. From letters, conversations in the court, and even personal heralds that told of all that had happened in the war, she had been informed of the status of their armies. However, reassuring the news of the recent victories in the Riverlands, Sansa had grown ever more concerned. Though Stafford, and more recently his bastard brother Edric, have tried to reassure her through the letters that it their progress in their military efforts couldn't be any better. She had no experience in leading an army, and she was not at all a strategist, but for some reason she couldn't help, but doubt the authenticity of their success. It was true, that from what she had gathered, they were in Riverlands reclaiming every almost every castle, and minor town from the Lannisters. The last letter she received from him detailed their victory near Harrenhal, and how they managed to capture a rousing victory on the battlefield. All the news that she heard only reinforced the great status of the army. However, even with this encouraging news, she still felt concerned for his safety.

In Winterfell, there were nights that she often thought about all the tales and all the legends about princes leaving behind their loved ones to fight for glory on the battlefield. Somehow all of them neglected to tell what those loved ones felt when they marched off to battle. All of them were concerned with the achievements the stories concerned themselves with were of their accomplishments in battle. Never once did it examine what the brave princes felt about those they left behind. Not one told of how the person the prince loved felt. How she was concerned with what would happen to him, while he was away. This wasn't like a tournament where she could see him perform noble and impressive feats in combat. After the tournament was done, Sansa would know of everything that happened, and not be left waiting for news about what happened.

But the thing that hurt Sansa the most was something worse than the concern she felt for him. She had not seen him in almost three months, and the time away from him was far worse than she could imagine. It grew even worse that there was the possibility that he would not be coming back to her. No matter how much he promised her that he would return before he left, that nagging thought in her mind could not be erased. She often waited in her quarters for someone, maybe a messenger, who had just arrived from having to covertly ride through the Reach with letters or maybe even news of the events that were happening.

However, Sansa knew she needed to be stronger now more than ever. For she was still filled with hope that one day instead of news of victory in a single battle, it would be news that the war was over, and Stafford would return. Not only that she would be able to see her family again. Robb, Bran, and even...Arya. Every time she thought about her missing sister, there would always be a certain uneasiness about her. The last interaction she remembered with her sister was a physical altercation in King's Landing. She hoped that when she met her again, she would be able to be more hospitable and remember that they were family. Even thinking of Arya now, always gave her mixed feelings, like she didn't know how to feel about it.

She shrugged all of her anxieties and concerns out for now. Now she was in her quarters, with no one, but herself. Storm's End was much less busy since Stafford had left for the Riverlands. There were less people, but it was far from under garrisoned. There were about seven thousand men held in reserve garrisoned in Storm's End. They were the people, who arrived late from the call to arms issued. They were all under the new Castellan Lord Bryce Caron, who was been asked to stay behind to watch over the reserve. While from his behaviors, and from what Sansa observed, he wasn't too pleased with the role of Castellan. She figured he wanted to ride off to war with the others, but she felt he served an important task. She was one of small number of noble ladies, who were in Storm's End. Some of the Lords, who were garrisoned here brought their wives and even daughters for their stay in Storm's End, while most stayed where their house's seat was. However, despite this the men and Lords treated her with respect, as they probably expected that Stafford would not be pleased if they did not. Of course, they were right about this.

Sansa sat at her desk with three letters left from what she had received from the messenger that arrived with letters from the battlefield. She had just returned from the main hall earlier to retrieve the letters that were meant for her. However, she did not expect to receive one of them. Two of the letters were usual letters, one from Stafford, clearly with his personal seal sealing the letter, and the other was a rare letter from Edric. The third letter was the one that caught her attention. It had her mother's personal seal, and if this was with a Baratheon messenger, then she knew that Stafford had probably already met with her mother. And hopefully Renly did his job and gave my letter.

At least she hoped that this letter would address and would give her hope that her family would do what she believed was right. The Starks and the Baratheons had always been allies. It was due to a false king and plots of a house that wanted more power that this trust was fractured. She didn't blame Robb and her mother for trying to create a separate kingdom. But she knew that the kingdom would be stronger if they were united. She knew that Stafford needed Robb as much Robb needed him. It would be great if they would at least consider allying with one another to prove that there was still trust to keep the kingdom to together.

Sansa slowly broke the seal to her mother's letter, setting aside the others for later. Her hands shook as she opened the letter. She wondered the impact of what her actions had done to her family. She regretted and didn't regret all that she had done at the same time, which made her feel even more confused about the predicament that she was in. She put all those feelings, and uncertainties aside and quickly opened the letter.

 _Sansa,_

 _I had been wanting to write to you for some time, but after all the rumors that went around about the events of King's Landing, I was unable to think of a way to get this letter to you. However, after a certain Baratheon prince invited me to speak with him at his camp near Harrenhal, that changed. After the battle we spoke some more, and finally I decided through his words and yours, that he had barely gained enough of my trust to invite him to Riverrun as soon as he was done with his business in the field. I do not know if he had forced you to write all of the things you said about him and your state, or forced his uncle to make to clever forgery. However, I do know this, if it was you, who wrote that letter, which in my mind it was, then it compels me to give him the chance to prove that he is truly someone worthy of you. While I stated I'd give him a chance, I only promise that I'll give him a chance. For all I can see, from how he acts, how he talks, and even his behavior after his little skirmish with his grandfather, I can see his father, Robert. He seems like he would fight, die, and do anything for your sake. But all of these are assumptions, but if these assumptions are true, and I pray to the Gods it might be true, we will reunite as a family. As for your marriage that you stated you wanted in your letter that his uncle gave me, he will have to prove that he is more than just a copy of his father Robert, for me to give him that honor. But as I stated I will give him a chance not only in regards to that, but also an ally to our cause. Until that be well, and I hope to see you in person, soon,"_

 _With the Kindest Regards,_

 _Your Mother_

After reading the letter, she set it on the corner of her desk. It read like something her mother would write to her when she was in King's Landing and her mother was in Winterfell. She remembered all the letters she wrote about how optimistic she had been to live in the Tower of the Hand, and of course, how she was excited to spend time with her...betrothed Joffrey. She had been wrong about Joffrey, and if Stafford hadn't been there or if Joffrey hadn't killed her father, she would probably still be enamored with the 'Baratheon' prince. While it stated that Stafford still needed to prove himself to her, she knew that at least earning enough trust from her mother to allow for that was an accomplishment for Stafford. Of course, she never doubted that Stafford could accomplish it. Sansa knew nothing of wars, or intrigue, and she knew that Stafford or even her brother, Robb did not know much about the topic as well. But she knew, in fact everyone with a sane mind knew, that if the Starks and Baratheons had united in alliance as they once had during Stafford's father Robert's Rebellion, they would threatening force in the war.

After pondering more of her thoughts about the letter from her mother, she turned her attention to the letters written by Edric and Stafford. Stafford had always written to her, and she always wrote to him. Edric barely wrote to her, in fact in the three months that they had been off at war, he had only sent her two letters. She didn't expect much from him though. And all the letters he wrote composed of only a few short sentences, hastily scrawled with an ink pen giving her news about what was going on in camp. Edric probably had more important things to do, and seeing as she probably didn't mean as much to him as she did to Stafford, she knew Edric would put a low amount of effort into the letters. She thought he could do better than scribbles about what was going in camp, the usual illegible, "Stafford's never been better" phrase that seemed have been written in worse handwriting when comparing the two letters, and random comment about how the dogs they kept at camp smelled. Come to think of it, Sansa never knew they had dogs accompany them when they marched. Must not have noticed.

She opened Edric's letter first, as it was likely going to be the shortest. She opened the unsealed letter, as is customary as his status didn't allow him the luxury of using a seal. He was a bastard after all, and while Sansa thought that might not be fair the rules were the rules. Slowly she unfolded the piece of paper that had been hastily wrapped together with a string.

 _I don't even know the date, 299 AC?, probably I'm not smart enough to remember,_

 _The camps gotten more and more exciting since the battle at Harrenhal. Didn't really get as much action as I wanted, because I had to join the reserve for the fight. Stafford probably didn't want all the glory in the battle to go to his bastard brother. Got to gut a few Lannisters though, not nearly as much as our future king. The battle was almost over when the reserve coming. I'm enjoying myself, in fact I wrote this entire journal on piece of scrap vellum, next to the campfire. Couldn't even be more brilliant. Oh, but of course everyone is so happy for their Lord Stafford Baratheon, and I'm stuck with a bunch of poachers, who were forced into the army. How nice of him. Of course, he wouldn't be celebrating much even if he had no one to take care of his armor and made sure his axe was battle ready. Oh that's right, I do all that. And what do I receive in return for all of my services. Dinner with poachers, and misfits, while Stafford goes and celebrates with the nobility. And then I have to find time to write to his little friend, Sansa was it? I wish I didn't have to, I don't care about that girl. She's like a bird, sweet and always singing, and Stafford seems to be lulled by the song. Can't really blame him, though. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate Stafford or any of this. It's better than being stuck in Storm's End with Renly, though not by much. The two act like each other, and it is no wonder they get along. But behind closed doors, not all love and adore them as much as they think. They're not as bad as those, who killed my father, but the only reason I support them is, because they are kin. In fact I see a little bit of myself in the two. Yet I never get recognized. Otherwise, I wouldn't waste my breath having to fight for anything. Oh well, what can a bastard ask for anyway…_

The note that seemed like some young boys journal entry ended right there. Sansa seemed a little shocked at what Edric had written, it it seemed like it wasn't something that she received. Edric seemed a little disgruntled with his current role in the war, being squire to Stafford. While some would have killed to be in the same position being allowed to interact with a future king, Edric seemed to want more. But knowing where he came from, especially being brothers with Stafford, and being the son of King Robert Baratheon of all people, he seemed true to his heritage. Stafford was willing to start a war with his own brother with the goal of becoming king. But even he knew that he had to be patient, so he decided to become a Lord instead of crowning himself king like so many others. True kings wait for the people to crown them, not to crown for themselves to show their power. Stafford was a true king, and even what she heard of Robb seemed to be the same way. The two knew honor, yet fought a different way. Her brother fought with honor even at the hinderance of the victory. Stafford wanted victory and he would pursue victory at all costs. And both would make for a better king than Joffrey or any of the Lannisters would ever become.

Edric didn't seem to think as much about her, to the point of calling her a 'bird that lulled Stafford through song'. She tried to think of the last person, who ever called her that. Edric didn't intend to send her a long journal entry of his own concoction about all his complaints, but he just did. She felt sorry for Edric, but she hoped he would come to his senses. She was sure Stafford or anyone in camp wouldn't make him feel that way on purpose. He was just different, that was all just like Jon was to her. She didn't hate Jon, and he probably didn't hate her as well, but they weren't nearly as close to her as Arya was. The two got along like two friends, she might have gotten along more with Jon than she did with her. Especially now after all that had happened between the two of them. She pushed aside Edric's journal entry, I don't think she would even bother replying to that. The last thing she wanted was for Edric to get upset, and take out his frustrations in a way that would hinder Stafford's effort.

She quickly unsealed the seal black on yellow seal that remained unbroken. She always gave her full attention to whatever he wrote when she received the letter. It was the loose thread that held them together, that and the locket. They were literally miles apart from each other, and she longed for him to return. But she knew he had a job to do, and she knew he would repay him with an entire lifetime together when he returned to her. Sansa slowly unrolled the letter.

 _Dearest Sansa,_

 _It was quite the scene after we triumphed over my grandfather in the field of battle. Before it began, I was uncertain whether or not my army would prevail against them. But by the grace of the Seven, they have given me victory over the Lannisters. While it was far from a debilitating strike dealt to my grandfather, we have showed them that we were a force to be reckoned with. Less raiding parties have come to threaten the people of the Riverlands since our victory, and my grandfather knows that he can only sit in Harrenhal, because we allow it. Meanwhile, my brother is worried about Stannis, who has been gathering some of our reserve in Dragonstone and the narrow sea to threaten King's Landing. Joffrey and my mother are in a predicament they don't want to be caught in. Not to mention, that after the battle your mother finally allowed for us to meet with her son in Riverrun. Although, I am still waiting on my advisors on the best time to go to Riverrun and meet with your brother, I am confident that the Starks and the Baratheons will soon stand together as one kingdom, against the rule of the brutal tyrant that is my brother. I am certain that if our victories and my negotiations with your family goes well, this war will soon come to end. I did not forget my promise to you, Sansa. As soon as I am able, as soon as at least some stability has returned to the realm, we will be united as one forever. I know that we are both young, but even now I know that you are the one I want to share my life with forever. I fight harder knowing as that once the war has ended, I will see you once again and we will make up for lost time. Until then, please know that I am safe, and well. Ser Barristan, and some new appointments I have made at the Kingsguard, as well as my field commanders will guarantee that._

 _Truly Yours,_

 _Stafford._

Reading his letter further encouraged her that everything would be alright in the end. The word of his victories have spread throughout the realm. Some call him another Usurper looking to win the Iron Throne though he had no former claim of that intention. Some call him a hero, mostly in the Stormlands, unifying House Baratheon into a stronger house thus making the Stormlands more powerful. Others call him a puppet of his uncles, which Sansa mostly ignored. But one thing was for certain, once all the fighting stopped, Sansa and him would spend the time that they were meant to spent if it weren't for the war.


	36. ACOK Daenerys II

**A/N: What up invaders, Matthewstaffordlionsfan17 here, and welcome back to the story. In the last episode, we were in Westeros, but we will return to Essos for one of the rare times in this Act of the story. I mean much of this chapter takes place in Chapter 27 of ACOK, and it is about when the Targaryen enters Qarth. Some portions were actual lines from the book, and I'm sure some of you will recognize those portions. Of course, I wrote and tried to reword most of it and added the personal touches from the novel like Ellion, a slight change in the news delievered by the summer islander, where Stafford is included and Eddard is already executed. This is to try to make sure everything exists within the cannon of this story. We will return to Westeros in Chapter Thirty Seven. However, this chapter just seeks to update everyone of the status of Essos, and while I believe it isn't the best chapter I've written, as it is one of the worst ones in my opinion, I promised to update more often, and sometimes you just have to send out what you got and stop worrying about whether it will be good or not. Hope you enjoy, and I'll try making better content for y'all. See y'all on the eleventh or twelfth for the side project and the fifteenth for our return to Westeros and the war.**

 **BingeReader97: I mean the first few chapters weren't edited much at all. I never expected it to be read by as many people when my editor and I created it. Personally, grammar and syntax don't matter as much, as long as you can follow along and it isn't incoherent when writing fun projects like fanfics. If you stick around, I'll try to improve the polish, syntax and grammar. Thank you for your kind review.**

 **Jeriko121: I mean, it seems everyone hates Sansa when you first read her POVs. However, I believe my OC is almost as ignorant as Robert was so, I still think he rules in regard. But the truth is in terms of combat and usefulness, Stafford and Robert make up for their stupidity and ignorance through their fighting, but that's just my opinion. Stafford was meant to be a variant of young Robert Baratheon, so they act alike. Anyway after going off on that tangents, thank you for your kind reveiw.**

 **Guest: I hate what I did to Arya. I hate Stafford a little for what he did to her, and I made him up. I hate Max Irons a little bit, and I didn't think that was possible, imagining him in real game of thrones literally doing what he did with Maisie Williams on show. I mean I wouldn't blame him, but every time that scene ran through my head where he basically chose Sansa over her, I see Max Irons, Sophie Turner, and Maisie Williams, and would good money to see it in real life. Something like a moderately sized loan of a Billion dollars. Thank you for your kind review.**

 **Hope y'all enjoy and as always let's do this!**

 _Daenerys_

On the walls of Qarth, men beat gongs to herald her coming, while others blew curious horns that encircled their bodies like great bronze snakes. A column of camelry emerged from the city as her honor guards. The riders wore scaled copper armor and snouted helms with copper tusks and long black silk plumes, and sat high on saddles inlaid with rubies and garnets. Their

camels were dressed in blankets of a hundred different hues. Following the column at the rear were six hundred mercenary riders from the Talon Company, under one of their Lieutenants, a young man, who simply called himself Ellion. The rest of the two thousand mercenaries were denied entry to the city. No doubt the people of Qarth didn't want the threat of two thousand mercenaries from the Free City of Volantis. Volantis was leagues away from Qarth, so naturally they didn't trust much outsiders. They wouldn't allow any of the mercenaries including Ellion into the city if she hadn't persuaded the guards to allow a small guard to accompany her.

Ellion was a young man even she could not read by simply talking to him. In the event that the he talked to her, which was rare, Ellion seemed stern and would rarely even smile. He hardly joked about anything, and he spent most of his time dedicating himself to the field with his men. Ser Jorah did not trust him, and said that Ellion had a some motive to appear out of nowhere like he did in the camp. However, Dany could not say whether or not he was trustworthy, because she spent so little time with him. Time is required to judge a person's character. Whether he has a hidden motive she may never even know till he has a chance to speak with him. Of course she knew Ellion from his childhood, but many people go through changes when they grow up. Ellion seemed to have changed from the rugged common boy with bandages on his face, to a stern calculating young man. For now she ignored her thoughts about the peculiar mercenaries' motives and turned her attention on the city of Qarth.

The magnificence of the great city was not to be denied. Three thick walls encircled Qarth, elaborately carved. The outer was red sandstone, thirty feet high and decorated with animals: snakes slithering, kites flying, fish swimming, intermingled with wolves of the red waste and striped horses and monstrous elephants. The middle wall, forty feet high, was grey granite alive with scenes of war: the clash of sword and shield and spear, arrows in flight, heroes

at battle and babes being butchered, pyres of the dead. The innermost wall was fifty feet of black marble, with carvings that made Dany blush until she told herself that she was being a fool.

The Qartheen lined the streets and watched from delicate balconies that looked too frail to support their weight. They were tall pale folk in linen and samite and tiger fur, every one a lord or lady to her eyes. The women wore gowns that left one breast bare, while the men favored beaded silk skirts. She felt odd wearing a mercenaries arming doublet, but to be frank that was all the clothing that Ellion had offered her. It was better than a lion skin robe, but it was far from anything regal. The dragon on her shoulder more than compensated for that though.

She glanced at her bloodriders, their dark almond-shaped eyes giving no hint of their thoughts. Is it only the plunder they see? she wondered. How savage we must seem to these Qartheen.

Pyat Pree conducted her little khalasar down the center of a great arcade where the city‟s ancient heroes stood thrice life-size on columns of white and green marble. They passed through a bazaar in a cavernous building whose latticework ceiling was home to a thousand gaily colored birds. Trees and flowers bloomed on the terraced walls above the stalls, while below it seemed as if everything the gods had put into the world was for sale.

Her silver as the merchant prince Xaro Xhoan Daxos rode up to her; the horses could not abide the close presence of camels, she had found. "If you see here anything that you would desire, O most beautiful of women, you have only to speak and it is yours," Xaro called down from his ornate horned saddle.

And then the most peculiar thing happened. She expected Ellion to be with the column with the rest of his riders. However, when she glanced behind her sensing that someone was behind her, him riding on his field hunter. Ellion looked at the merchant prince almost as if he was wary of his movement. She turned her back on him, but she was all the more curious why he would do that. Was really trying to make sure Xaro didn't try anything? He seemed to have the that look on his eyes.

"Qarth itself is hers, she has no need of baubles," blue-lipped Pyat Pree sang out from her other side. "It shall be as I promised, Khaleesi. Come with me to the House of the Undying, and you shall drink of truth and wisdom."

"Why should she need your Palace of Dust, when I can give her sunlight and sweet water and silks to sleep in?" Xaro said to the warlock. "The Thirteen shall set a crown of black jade and fire opals upon her lovely head."

"The only palace I desire is the red castle at King's Landing, my lord Pyat." Dany was wary of the warlock; the maegi Mirri Maz Duur had soured her on those who played at sorcery. "And if the great of Qarth would give me gifts, Xaro, let them give me ships and swords to win back what is rightfully mine."

"The young queen is wise beyond her years," Xaro Xhoan Daxos murmured down at her from his high saddle. "There is a saying in Qarth. A warlock‟s house is built of bones and lies."

"Then why do men lower their voices when they speak of the warlocks of Qarth? All across the east, their power and wisdom are revered."

"Once they were mighty," Xaro agreed, "but now they are as ludicrous as those feeble old soldiers who boast of their prowess long after strength and skill have left them. They read their crumbling scrolls, drink shade-of-the-evening until their lips turn blue, and hint of dread powers, but they are hollow husks compared to those who went before. Pyat Pree‟s gifts will turn to dust

in your hands, I warn you." He gave his camel a lick of his whip and sped away.

"I don't trust any of those men," someone stated bluntly. She turned to her left and saw that the mercenary lieutenant Ellion had pulled up next to her. Ser Jorah, who had been at her right at the start looked at him, but did not speak.

"And why is that? Those men could help me take the crown that is rightfully mine," She stated.

"Those men are liars and pretenders all of them. The thing they want is on your shoulder. I've been observing that _mage_ and that _prince_ since we entered. They won't stop glancing at it, and I know opportunists when I see one," Ellion stated gruffly. Ser Jorah looked like he agreed with what the mercenary said for once. The two never spoke, but she could feel the tension between the two. The feeling of mistrust between the both of them was undeniable. But Ellion's suggestion seemed warped. Surely the two or even the entire city were just interested in her dragons. But if they were, that would certainly not be

"I agree with the mercenary. I would not linger here long, my queen. I mislike the very smell of this place." the knight stated.

Dany smiled. "Perhaps it's the camels you're smelling. The Qartheen themselves seem sweet enough to my nose."

"Sweet smells are sometimes used to cover foul ones."

My great bear, Dany thought. I am his queen, but I will always be his cub as well, and he will always guard me. It made her feel safe, but sad as well. She wished she could love him better than she did.

As for Ellion, she could understand his resentment from princes and royalty. Mercenaries like him were sent to do work, even soldiers thought was beneath them. Ellion probably resented being treated like something expendable. No matter how many mercenaries or how large a mercenary company is mercenaries would always be treated like. Leaders were just leaders of commoners, while they themselves were commoners. No nobleman would shed a tear at the loss of lieutenant or captain, as much as they would shed tears for the loss a well respected knight or prince.

Xaro Xhoan Daxos had offered Dany the hospitality of his home while she was in the city. She had expected something grand. She had not expected a palace larger than many a market town. It makes Magister Illyrio's manse in Pentos look like a swineherd‟s hovel, she thought. Xaro swore that his home could comfortably house all of her people and their horses besides; indeed, it swallowed them. An entire wing was given over to her. She would have her own gardens, a marble bathing pool, a scrying tower and warlock's maze. Slaves would tend her every need. In her private chambers, the floors were green marble, the walls draped with colorful silk hangings that shimmered with every breath of air.

Pyat Pree took his leave as well, vowing to petition the Undying Ones for an audience. "A honor rare as summer snows." Before he left he kissed her bare feet with his pale blue lips and pressed on her a gift, a jar of ointment that he swore would let her see the spirits of the air. Last of the three seekers to depart was Quaithe the shadowbinder. From her Dany received only a warning.

"Beware," the woman in the red lacquer mask said.

When Quaithe too was gone, Ser Jorah said, "She speaks truly, my queen . . . though I like her no more than the others."

"I do not understand her." Pyat and Xaro had showered Dany with promises from the moment they first glimpsed her dragons, declaring themselves her loyal servants in all things, but from Quaithe she had gotten only the rare cryptic word. A great many people had shown interests in helping her regain her throne. First, from the barren wastes, a mercenary company by the name of the Talon Company, offered to help her if she proved worthy. They had given her more assistance with their two thousand swords than what seemed like empty promises that the princes and important persons in Qarth. While she hasn't been able to read or find out what their intentions were through their undecipherable leader, Ellion, they were somehow much more trustworthy than those she met in Qarth. Remember Mirri Maz Duur, she told herself. Remember treachery.

"We will keep our own watch so long as we are here. See that no one enters this wing of the palace without my leave, and take care that the dragons are always well guarded."

"It shall be done, Khaleesi," Aggo said.

"We have seen only the parts of Qarth that Pyat Pree wished us to see," she went on. "Rakharo, go forth and look on the rest, and tell me what you find. Take good men with you—and women, to go places where men are forbidden."

"As you say, I do, blood of my blood," said Rakharo.

"Ser Jorah, find the docks and see what manner of ships lay at anchor. It has been half a year since I last heard tidings from the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps the gods will have blown some good captain here from Westeros with a ship to carry us home."

The knight frowned. "That would be no kindness. The Usurper will kill you, sure as sunrise." Mormont hooked his thumbs through his sword belt. "My place is here at your side."

"Even if you got a ship, two thousand mercenary swords isn't enough to face even the smallest house in Westeros. I don't know much about what lies beyond the sea, but I do know, their armies are organized far more than any mercenary company or army you can see in Essos," someone stated. And from a corner in the room, Ellion, the mercenary, leaned on the wall. His face still as calm and stoic as ever. He had been so quiet most of them had forgotten he was even there in the room with them. He had really changed from what she could remember from him in Volantis.

"Even so, we must make progress towards my ultimate goal. Reclaiming the seven kingdoms from the Usurper," she addressed him. His face remained unchanged, but he simply nodded, "Jhogo and Ellion can guard me as well. You have more languages than my bloodriders, and the Dothraki mistrust the sea and those who sail her. Only you can serve me in this. Go among the ships and speak to the crews, learn where they are from and where they are bound and what manner of men command them."

Reluctantly, the exile nodded. "As you say, my queen."

When all the men exited Jorah was giving Ellion looks, as if trying to tell him not to try anything to harm her. He was still suspicious of him, but she could not blame him. Her handmaids stripped off the travelstained silks she wore, and Dany padded out to where the marble pool sat in the shade of a portico. The water was deliciously cool, and the pool was stocked with tiny golden fish that nibbled curiously at her skin and made her giggle. It felt good to close her eyes and float, knowing she could rest as long as she liked. She wondered whether Aegon‟s Red Keep had a pool like this, and fragrant gardens full of lavender and mint.

The Usurper will kill you, sure as sunrise, Mormont had said. Robert had slain her gallant brother Rhaegar, and one of his creatures had crossed the Dothraki sea to poison her and her unborn son. They said Robert Baratheon was strong as a bull and fearless in battle, a man who loved nothing better than war. And with him stood the great lords her brother had named the Usurper's dogs, cold-eyed Eddard Stark with his frozen heart, and the golden Lannisters, father and son, so rich, so powerful, so treacherous.

* * *

Ser Jorah had returned from the docks . . . and not alone. "Send him in, with whomever he has brought," she said, curious. When they entered, she was seated on a mound of cushions, her dragons all about her. The man he brought with him wore a cloak of green and yellow feathers and had skin as black as polished jet. "

Your Grace," the knight said, "I bring you Quhuru Mo, captain of the Cinnamon Wind out of Tall Trees Town."

The black man knelt. "I am greatly honored, my queen," he said; not in the tongue of the Summer Isles, which Dany did not know, but in the liquid Valyrian of the Nine Free Cities. "The honor is mine, Quhuru Mo," said Dany in the same language. "Have you come from the Summer Isles?"

"This is so, Your Grace, but before, not half a year past, we called at Oldtown. From there I bring you a wondrous gift."

"A gift?"

"A gift of news. Dragon Mother, Stormborn, I tell you true, Robert Baratheon is dead."

Outside her walls, dusk was settling over Qarth, but a sun had risen in Dany's heart. "Dead?" she repeated. In her lap, black Drogon hissed, and pale smoke rose before her face like a veil. "You are certain? The Usurper is dead?"

"So it is said in Oldtown, and Dorne, and Lys, and all the other ports where we have called."

He sent me poisoned wine, yet I live and he is gone. The man that had forced her to live in exile, and killed many of those she held dear. "What was the manner of his death?" On her shoulder, pale Viserion flapped wings the color of cream, stirring the air.

"Torn by a monstrous boar whilst hunting in his kingswood, or so I heard in Oldtown. Others say his queen betrayed him, or his brother, or Lord Stark who was his Hand. Yet all the tales agree in this: King Robert is dead and in his grave."

"The boy sits the Iron Throne now," Ser Jorah said

"King Joffrey reigns," Quhuru Mo agreed, "but the Lannisters rule. Robert's brothers seem to backing the second son of Robert Baratheon, Lord Stafford Baratheon of Storm's End . and the Hand has fallen, Lord Stark who was King Robert's friend. He was executed at the Sept for treason. The young Prince Stafford made quite the scene during the execution. Now they are are up in arms fighting amongst each other,"

"So much for his honor," Ser Jorah stated. His hatred for the Starks was well founded, he had been exiled from Westeros by them

"If this King is dead, then you must find a way to raise a sizable force, and arrive when you are least expected. It's not my fight...unless you manage to impress my employer," Ellion stated gruffly. Ellion didn't mince words, and his suggestion seemed at least to attempt to help her. Question is, if she 'proves worthy' and receives help from the mercenaries, would it be enough to help her reclaim her kingdoms. More importantly, it seemed the men, who had helped in ousting her father from the throne had received what they deserved. All of what they worked for was unraveling before their very eyes. It also seemed fitting the Robert's sons would be fighting amongst themselves. Both paying for the sins of their treacherous father.

"Then I grieve for you, Dragonmother, and for bleeding Westeros, bereft of its rightful king." Beneath Dany‟s gentle fingers, green Rhaegal stared at the stranger with eyes of molten gold. When his mouth opened, his teeth gleamed like black needles. "When does your ship return to Westeros, Captain?"

"Not for a year or more, I fear. From here the Cinnamon Wind sails east, to make the trader's circle round the Jade Sea."

"I see," said Dany, disappointed. "I wish you fair winds and good trading, then. You have brought me a precious gift."

The Summer Islander promised he would do so, and kissed her lightly on the fingers as he took his leave. Jhiqui showed him out, while Ser Jorah Mormont and the mercenary, Ellion stood in some corner eagerly listening to them.

"Khaleesi," the knight said when they were alone, "I should not speak so freely of your plans, if I were you. We hardly know of his intentions." He was clearly hinting at the mercenary, Ellion.

"Don't speak as if I'm not here knight," he stated bluntly, "If I was going to harm her, I wouldn't use treachery to do so. I'm a mercenary not a criminal."

"But, Ser Jorah is right, we hardly know why you had arrived to us with your offer. How do we know you aren't trying to hinder our cause?"

"Look, I was clear on why I am here. I'm here to evaluate your cause, nothing more. The best way to do so is fighting for you, and if you impress me, my employer, you'll have all of our company under your command," Ellion explained still maintaining his stoic demeanour, "And if I wanted to kill you and your dragons, I would have done it when you were vulnerable."

Ellion was right, he could have killed her in the desert and be done with it if he really wanted to kill her. Ellion didn't try to shower her with false promises of allegiance, and she gained some respect for him in that regard. Slowly, the mercenary was gaining her trust, but she still didn't feel as though he was remotely close to being as trustworthy as those who had been with her since the very beginning, like Ser Jorah.

"It matters not, you have proven to be worthy of at least some trust, Ellion,"

"Glad to hear it," he stated and looked off somewhere else.

"The high lords have always fought. Tell me who‟s won and I'll tell you what it means. Khaleesi, the Seven Kingdoms are not going to fall into your hands like so many ripe peaches. You will need a fleet, gold, armies, alliances—"

"All this I know." She took his hands in hers and looked up into his dark suspicious eyes. Sometimes he thinks of me as a child he must protect, and sometimes as a woman he would like to bed, but does he ever truly see me as his queen? "I am not the frightened girl you met in Pentos. I have counted only fifteen name days, true . . . but I am as old as the crones in the dosh

khaleen and as young as my dragons, Jorah. I have borne a child, burned a khal, and crossed the red waste and the Dothraki sea. Mine is the blood of the dragon."

"As was your brother‟s," he said stubbornly.

"I am not Viserys."

"No," he admitted. "There is more of Rhaegar in you, I think, but even Rhaegar could be slain. Robert proved that on the Trident, with no more than a warhammer. Even dragons can die."

"Dragons die." She stood on her toes to kiss him lightly on an unshaven cheek. "But so do dragonslayers."


	37. ACOK Robb II

**A/N: What up invaders! Matthewstaffordlionsfan17 here! Sorry for the late update, and between writers block and trying to find out chronological events in ACOK, synching dates, and trying to find out how to best insert Stafford into the cannon, I had a tough time writing the chapter. Now since my chapter timeline is shot out the window, I'll try making it up to you guys this week with an update to the side projects. This chapter was written in Robb's POV and can be treated like it is a recap episode. Robb and his advisors meet, and I literally threw in several of his commanders including Ser Robin and Lord Karstark, just to make it more interesting and not to overuse Edmure and the other common River Lords still in the Riverrun. This blurb will be short and I will respond to reviews next chapter, as this is already quite the short chapter. Thank you for your continued support, and the next POV will be Stafford's POV.**

 **(PS. For those of you to expecting Stafford to lose a battle like his father did in the Rebellion, that will be coming soon.)**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Robb_

The war in the Riverlands had gone much better than expected. Robb, after having received word of news of their status of battles against the Lannisters, reviewed the war table with his advisors. He knew he had to keep watch over the war effort, and he knew he was almost honorbound to be present at every tactical meetings. These were the things that needed to be done every time he fought a battle, and he had never been bested in a battle, yet. Accompanied with his wolf, he listened intently to what his advisors had to say. They were in the midst of discussing the recent events in the campaign, which Robb eagerly awaited to hear about.

"It has been two weeks since, Tywin Lannister faced the Baratheon host near Harrenhal. Tywin Lannister is held in Harrenhal, but seems to be in a most interesting position," his uncle, Edmure stated. Robb had heard of the battle, the former prince of House Baratheon of King's Landing had clashed swords with his grandfather near Harrenhal. Lord Tywin wished to test the mettle of the host commanded by Lord Stafford and his uncle Lord Renly, and they answered by taking the field in a decisive fashion. It was said that the arrows, and even pikes could not deter the Baratheon cavalry during that day. Although they had the larger host, Robb was impressed that the Baratheons could best a veteran tactician such as Tywin Lannister. Of course, he and his host had done the same when he defeated them to lift the siege of Riverrun during Whispering Wood and the Camps.

"How so?" Robb asked wondering what his uncle had meant. His uncle smiled and moved the stag, which symbolized Stafford and Renly's host towards Harrenhal.

"If Stafford and Renly were aggressive, they could besiege Harrenhal. They would have respectable odds against the host, and of course an advantage in morale,"

"Then why does the boy not besiege the old Lion? Would save us the trouble of having to worry about his host if we were to assault the west," Ser Robin Ryger stated. That was indeed a valid point, why would they the opportunity to take Harrenhal from Lord Tywin. It would not only erase any significant presence threatening the Riverlands, but it would leave the Westerlands wide open for attack. While the Westerlands were perfectly capable of raising a host to counter this, Stafford had the numbers and the bravery to face whatever assembled themselves in the Westerlands in open combat. That is if he destroys Lord Tywin's host.

"It is true that they could besiege Harrenhal, but given Lord Renly's temperament in troop movements, he would not take the risk," his uncle replied.

"Why ever not? Would they not gain a significant advantage if they do take Harrenhal,"

"You see, a prolonged siege against Harrenhal would be taxing on the host. From what we could tell from reports, the host is equipped for open field engagements, as well as mobility. They lack siege equipment, and engineers to build their machines," His uncle explained, "Also if they lose, they basically lose most of their control of the area, not to mention this Baratheon host is the largest they have, and although I believe Stafford to be as reckless as any young commander, he listens to his uncles on almost all his tactical moves.

"The young boy is also undefeated in the field. To his men, this is for morale, as they have never tasted defeat. Granted while they haven't exactly rolled through everyone and have taken casualties, the confidence of the men needs to be preserved. Sieges can prove to be demoralizing and I doubt the Baratheons would take that course of action," Rickard Karstark stated. He had walked out of the court session in which he talked of peace with the Lannisters.

"So what could we possibly anticipate this host to do?" Robb asked. He was genuinely curious about the potential this Baratheon host have definitely changed since Stafford and his uncles entered the war. If they could ally with the fledgling House Baratheon of Storm's End, that would be significant help. It will all depend on whether his mother returns with news from the Baratheon host. Robb still had slight faith that Prince...no not prince... _Lord_ Stafford Baratheon was fighting for the right reasons, and not only seizing the throne, but granting justice for his father as well as Robb's. Robb had remembered Stafford from Winterfell. He seemed like a honest, honorable young man, and it he was the only boy that even his sister, Arya seemed to get along with. Granted she trusted him, and she probably ended up regretting that decision, but if he talked to him he might at least understand his reasons for it. Not like he had any choice, but to listen to him, especially if he managed to convince his mother that he could at least be trusted to parley. He also had quadruple the amount of men he had, which inclined him to be wary. Who's to stop him from just marching in, and start terrorizing the Riverlands himself? Robb trusted all the Baratheon's equally, but that didn't mean much. He trusted them more than the Lannisters, but not as much as his family or any of his allies in the North. That might change. However, Robb always thought trust needed to be earned, and thus far, given the actions Stafford has taken, including kidnapping his own sister from King's Landing, Robb felt he wasn't doing the best job in earning his trust.

"If you are worried that the young Lord will march against your force, don't be. Stafford has no indication of turning his armies around and assaulting our forces. Although, Stafford has the manpower to face both of our armies in open combat. Not only do they have the numbers, but the men rallied from the Stormlands have a reputation of excelling in battling in our conditions," His uncle stated, "From what we could tell he, like his father, is able to command his host rather well in an open plain, wetland, or anything flat using shock tactics. His infantry is particularly devastating if they mount a defensive position against any of our host. Most of his infantry are experienced in fighting in most terrain given mixed terrain and harshness of the small Stormlands."

"Infantry is not the only threat that host can give. Their cavalry is also quite potent when they need to go on the offensive. What the infantry lack in offensive capability, the cavalry makes up for. Particularly a particular group in their cavalry, they have no official name, but most Lord Renly has apparently dubbed them Storm Cavaliers,"

"What an odd name, why did he call them that?" Robb asked perplexed. Renly Baratheon seemed to have the same exact obsession with weather, Stafford seemed to have. Stafford called his axe _Storm's Edge_ from what he remembered in Winterfell, and from some reports he even called his army quite simply the Storm. The two seemed to be fond of naming things after weather, particularly Storms. The two seemed to be fond of naming things in general.

"Reports say that no one has ever not even pikes or long spearman regiments have been able to halt the advance of the six hundred men in the regiment. The six hundred cavalry consist the best knights, landed and hedge knights, and even some tribal horsemen, who Stannis Baratheon most likely hired from the Stormlands and his lands in the narrow sea, A few well known noble Lords from the Stormlands, Stafford's small kingsguard, and of course the young stag himself," Greatjon Umber stated loud as ever, "However, they've been fighting summer warriors, soft and easily routed. If they ever charged into any of the men from the North, they'll be repulsed by warriors hardened by snows of the North." Robb felt as if he as confident as ever. While Stafford had mainly fought with troops from the Westerlands, they were still hardened men that he defeated. Robb wasn't very confident in his odds of victory against the remainder of the Baratheon host after their first major battle at Harrenhal. They were still quite large, and even if they combined with the Tully forces in the Riverlands, Stafford's host would still be considerably larger than his host. And in every battle that Stafford has fought, especially the ones where he had the advantage in numbers, he had won.

"Still even if we were to defeat the 'invincible' cavalry, we would have to worry about the infantry, and Tywin Lannister learned the hard way when he sent full cavalry raiding parties against portions of Stafford's infantry. They tear apart everything that charges at them. Especially their pikes and spears, they have some Dornishman leading a group of irregulars. Given the relations Dorne and the Stormlands have had in the past, having him in their army can give you an idea of the success they are having currently," Ser Edmure stated, "It isn't exactly a secret that this host, is a threat to any, who oppose them."

"What are weaknesses? No matter what every host has something that can compromise its success. No army is undefeatable, even Stafford's father King Robert lost to the Tyrells at Ashford when he ran into Randyll Tarly's van," Robb stated.

"Hah! It seems my nephew at least has an idea of how someone wages war. Yes, this Baratheon host seems to have multiple weaknesses. From reports it seems their commanders are rather inexperienced in actual warfare," His uncle started, "Stafford Baratheon is not a tactician, just like his father, the only thing tactical they can do is to yell out orders from horseback, or on foot. Someone would have to tell Stafford, which orders to issue, because if it were up to him, he'd probably get most of them under command killed. Renly Baratheon isn't much better, but he at least has the common sense that Stafford seems to lack."

"I thought Lord Stannis Baratheon was an expert tactician, would he not be a capable commander?" Robb asked.

"Lord Stannis is occupied with Stafford's ship. The Baratheon navy is just as dangerous as his army. While not as strong as say, the Iron Fleet, who would pulverize the navy, but Lord Stannis has made them a threat to Lannister ships trying to get supplies to King's Landing. He is keeping our dear King Joffrey occupied by lurking in Dragonstone. This way if he tries something, like send a signficant host of troops to besiege Storm's End, he could pounce and take King's Landing without much of a fight," Ser Robin stated pointing at Dragonstone on the map.

"This however, makes it so that Stannis is effectively cut off from sending tactics and advice to the host in the Riverlands. The only other competent commanders we can think of are either part of Stafford's Kingsguard, like Ser Cortnay Penrose, or are quite old. Rumor has it, Lord Eldon Estermont has been commanding their rear," One of the riverlords still in Riverrun stated.

"The boy also knows nothing of defeat. This makes him slightly overconfident and prone to making hasty decisions, because even though he has followed his uncle, who is a very cautious man, it is not guaranteed whether it will stay that way forever. And once his host tastes defeat for the first time, that is when we'll know how dangerous this army could get," Lord Rickard added.

"How would defeat measure how dangerous his army could get?" Robb asked.

"What Lord Rickard is trying to say is that once Lord Stafford tastes defeat, and loses a battle, the true might of his armies will be revealed. If he responds like his father did after his defeat his defeat in Ashford by answering with a victory in Stony Sept, then we know Stafford's army can handle defeat. That is how we can gauge his power from that," His uncle Edmure stated.

"That is _if_ he loses. If the gods are on his side, and he never loses a battle, he might be the biggest threat to Joffrey's rule and maybe even your rule as king," Lord Rickard grumbled. There was one thing that stood out in the words that Lord Rickard spoke. Stafford was a threat to anyone, who opposed him. No matter how young he was, no matter how inexperienced he was, and no matter how powerful the host that opposed them. Stafford was going to make life miserable for anyone, who went against him. Much like a storm, he and his allies would batter down opponents until they were destroyed, forced to yield, or simply flee in its wake. But with every storm comes people, who weather it. Only time will tell when the strength of Stafford's host will begin to fade.

Before the tactical meeting could continue, they were interrupted by someone entering the door. It was one of the guards at the front gates. Robb wondered what was so important that he had to wander so far from his post. It must have been something of note given how important that post was for the defense of the castle.

"Sire, your mother has returned," the messenger declared. Robb's eyes widened, he wasn't expecting her to return this day, "my lady told me to send for you immediately." Either the negotiations went so well that she returned earlier, or Stafford and Renly left her no choice, but to leave them to whatever they were planning. Robb hoped that it was the former, he did not want to clash blades with the Young Stag any time soon. He was still confident in his men, but that would be heavily taxing on not only his host, but the Baratheon host as well.

"Let's finish the rest of this meeting some other time, my good lords," Robb stated. The rest in attendance simply either acknowledged him or nodded in reply. Robb left the meeting room wondering what had happened during his mother's diplomatic mission in the Riverlands, and more importantly how will impact their war effort.

* * *

Robb after meeting his mother in the courtyard, escorted her to the keep. She told him she was tired from the journey, and wished to discuss what happened in the Baratheon camp with him in the solar. Robb could not read his mother's emotions. It was ironic that she could tell what he was feeling, but he himself could not. Everyone knew his mother was already well versed in court, and she had to know how to conceal her emotions, or she would not be as proficient as she was in that regard. They sat across from each other in the solar, with the afternoon sun shining through the small window.

"How did it go?" Robb asked with curiosity. His mother smiled at him from across the table.

"Well enough, I suppose. From what I could see first hand, the host is as massive as the reports given by Edmure," she stated, "I finally got to speak to the bo...young Lord." Robb knew she still thought of Stafford as a child. In truth, she thought he was still her child. Still practicing with swords in the courtyard in Winterfell, and getting into petty fights with brats like Joffrey. Now the feast in Winterfell seemed like a thousand years into the past. Stafford was still the young prince that felled his own brother during a feast, Joffrey was still just a little...well everyone knew what Joffrey was, Sansa, Jon, and Arya were still in Winterfell. And his father was still alive. How times have changed. Now, Stafford was leading a host of armed men in a rebellion reminiscent of his own father's rebellion, Joffrey was a posing as a king, Arya was missing and he didn't know when he'll ever see her again, Sansa may have inadvertently gotten father killed, and not only that let herself get kidnapped by Stafford of all people. Everything moved so fast, and Robb would be lying if he didn't say he wanted everything to return to the way things were.

"So, what was he like?"

"I'm still uncertain on my feelings toward him. He just...reminds me too much of Robert, the one before the rebellion, not the one that died recently," His mother began, "The boy isn't the smartest, like his father, but I could see the same fire in his eyes. The same one I saw in Robert's eyes when he was trying to get Lyanna back in the Rebellion." Robb couldn't see much of a problem in that. At least he wasn't as treacherous as his half brother Joffrey.

"That doesn't seem to be problem. It means he's quite focused on whatever his goal is," Robb concluded.

"That is the problem. What happened to the realm when Robert didn't get his way? Stafford has an army that can crush any force given enough time and given an open battle. But what we need in the realms, are kings, who are leaders not warriors. Robert proved that in his reign, and Stafford is acting like, and making the same mistakes his father did," _Well at least we know Stafford isn't just some figurehead Stannis and Renly are using to try to find a way to control the iron throne._

"Well isn't that why I'm becoming king in the first place? We cement an alliance and get Stafford, Renly and Stannis to agree that we are our own independent kingdom," Robb suggested.

"It isn't the simple, Robb. From what I got from Stafford and Renly, the two want to unite the kingdom. They won't allow for that," His mother responded calmly. Robb put an elbow on the table.

"So, is there no way to agree to an alliance? Are we to face _both_ the Lannisters and the Baratheons?"

"I did not say there was no way for an alliance. In fact it's quite the opposite," she stated, "From what I have seen, I have requested Stafford, Renly and his six hundred cavalry honor guard to come to Riverrun." Now that was news. After all that happened he might finally meet, Stafford again. He wanted answers from him. Why did he take Sansa from King's Landing? Where was his original betrothed, who happened to be his other sister? Why should I trust him? These were all questions that entered Robb's mind. However, it felt dangerous just inviting in Stafford and his famous cavalry regiment into Riverrun.

"Are you sure they can be trusted?" Robb asked his mother.

"They are trustworthy enough not to try anything under the guise of parley. And it may be the only way for us to see, Sansa,"

"Why doesn't he just return her to us?" Robb asked her.

"Because I don't think either of them would allow it. They seem pretty smitten with one another, that even a letter from your sister was able to convince me to at least give the boy a chance. Now we can discuss this further later. Lord Stafford and his honor guard are expected to arrive after a week, so I must rest in order to begin preparations on the morrow." One more week. One things for certain, Robb would get his answers once he arrives whether, Stafford liked it or not.


	38. ACOK Stafford III

**A/N: What up invaders! Matthewstaffordlionsfan17 here, and in a couple days it will be Thanksgiving! It's been awhile hasn't it? You may remember the last chapter update was exactly three months ago. To be exact, the last update was August 21st. I believe I owe all of my loyal readers an explanation for my sudden disappearance. First, if you have visited my profile, you would know I live in Tampa, Florida. During the time of the last update, you may remember Hurricane Irma 'hit' Tampa and its surrounding area. The hurricane was projected to be so bad, everyone in my area evacuated, and schools (including my university) was closed. I decided I wasn't going to risk experiencing a potential category 3-4 hurricane, therefore I evacuated. I spent the next week after that hurricane, drafting this chapter. And then, I decided to dedicate my time doing some other things. Different things. These things ranged from an attempt at getting into Twitch streaming, an original novel of my own, Civilization V and Mount and Blade Warband, as well as trying to dedicate my life to university. I was able to do updates frequently back when I was in high school (I started this fanfic in January of my Senior year). I thought I would be able to do the same when I went to university. Unfortunately, I was wrong. I decided to take a hiatus, because this fanfiction took a lot of time and I needed to focus on other items in my life. I literally only got three hours of sleep each night, when I tried balancing all my sporadic aspirations. I am pleased to tell you that I am back, and this time there will not be a three month long hiatus. This chapter is surprisingly long, and to be honest is quite rushed at the end. The chapter attempts to make an alliance between House Baratheon and House Stark, setting up a two pronged assault on Lannister forces with Robb in charge of scouring the Riverlands, and Stafford in charge of continuing to cut off Tywin from challenging Robb by trapping him at Harrenhal. This also will set up the entrances of Dorne, The Reach, and of course the Greyjoys into the war. I will be extensively planning the movement of this novel, using my new knowledge from my classes in college. (I am attempting to become a double major in English and Mathematics) Expect a spike in writing quality, polish, and of course more frequent updates. I have abandoned all other hobbies, besides playing video games and my sport wrestling, to dedicate my new found life to be a writer once more. The hiatus is officially over. The fury has returned.**

 **Tunak23: Like I said, my specialty in writing is High Fantasy and Science Fiction, with a major emphasis on action. The only reason why I include romance in any story is to be a driving force in the action. That being said, when I wrote Chapter 21, it is one of the only times I have actually written romance into characters development. My debut original novel, Schism, which is on Wattpad (I think, I may have deleted it…) had no romance for this reason. I don't know how to handle characters in this way, so I am very sorry for ruining the characters for you. To be honest, the way I drafted up the story makes it so the plot mirrors Robert's Rebellion to the letter. Thus, Stafford was originally intended to be an identical copy of Robert. Robb would act a lot like his father too, however when I experienced early success in viewership, I began to treat this like an actual story that had a round, dynamic protagonist, and not just a flat character, whose only purpose was to be exactly like Robert Baratheon. I am glad you liked the alternative events of the exposition, and hope you stick around to share your criticisms to help improve the fanfiction as it goes forward. Thank you for kind review.**

 **Intemperance22: Well I mean, that chapter wasn't exactly thought out very well. I literally could not tell you what my rationale was for that chapter, therefore I cannot really tell you how it could not turn out differently than that. Anyway, thanks for your review and hope you continue reading as the story goes forward.**

 **LetsseeifIcandothistoo: That plot angle is meant to introduce more drama into the story, which while it seems so drawn out, it is its prime function. I can see why it would be annoying and a turnoff for some readers. However, the exposition is meant to mirror the books as closely as possible, because it meant to set the stage for the war, which is where most of the new plot points are put on the table. Hopefully you gain enough interest to read the later chapters, because it focuses less on this aspect. Thank you for your criticism and review.**

 **Sorry for the extra long blurb this time, and without any more remarks from me, here is the long awaited return from the hiatus.**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Stafford_

It took Stafford and his honor guard less than four days of riding to get within sight of Riverrun, the seat of House Tully. While his uncle recommended that they take a slower pace rather than the gallop they rode with, Stafford was sure to make use of what advantages he had with an all cavalry honor guard. Every man in the honor guard was outfitted with horse, armored destriers to be precise. Not to mention, everyone in the guard would be distinguished by the amount of color they had in their armor. Some armors were tinted yellow, some black, and the kingsguard, who were protecting the center the position Stafford occupied in all engagements, were wearing white. While there were only two Kingsguard accompanying the young Stag as he rode through the Riverlands, fording small river crossings, and riding through whatever roads they could use, they were very capable and experienced knights. Ser Cortnay Penrose may have been left behind with Lord Estermont to preside over large army while the main leaders of the army were maintaining their excellent posture against Lord Tywin, but Ser Barristan and Ser Bolling were capable in defending him.

Stafford knew they would have to recruit more members in his Kingsguard, and that was also one of the many reasons why he brought his honor guard with him. His honor guard had many excellent candidates to choose from, and many were highborn and some had been fighting with him since his retreat from King's Landing. However, like usual, Stafford didn't really know a lot about the men, so he was forced to rely on Ser Barristan's judgement on who to name to the Kingsguard. No has seemed to impress Ser Barristan enough, however, and this was one of the many obstacles facing prospective members of his Kingsguard. Ser Barristan had very high standards for filling positions, and to his credit the current members of the Kingsguard were quite good at their job of defending the king. However, there needed to be more bodyguard around the king. This meant that Ser Barristan needed to fill position, and quick, because a three man Kingsguard no matter how powerful would not be able to do their duties of protecting their king to their fullest capability. But the Kingsguard was an issue for another time, in fact before he could be fully entitled to a full guard, he needed to win the crown first. And that issue lay on whether, Stafford could convince the Starks, who seemed to want to create their own independent Northern Kingdom, to trust in unity once more, and fight his own kin the Lannisters and their allies. This with the ultimate goal of uniting the seven kingdoms into a whole kingdom once more, under his rule.

As soon as Riverrun was in sight, one of the front flanks of the cavalry formation they had been riding in, quickly signaled for a halt. Stafford wondered why, until he noticed another set of cavalry men. The did not carry the banner of the black stag on a yellow background, but a fish. Stafford always thought fish were the last thing someone wanted or needed in their coat of arms. They had no menacing qualities like a charging stag, a roaring lion, or even a dragon if you count the Targaryens. Yet they were a powerful house, which controlled the Riverlands, a region when given just the size were larger than the Stormlands. There were towns in the Riverlands too, sprawling with a respectable amount of people, while the people of Stormlands were either living in villages around castles, or in the castles themselves. Quite the contrast in landscape as well, everything in the Riverlands was wet and boggy compared to Stormlands. And that's coming from somewhere where the summer storms can last three to five days. Somehow, the Riverlands had more wetlands, than the stormy Stormlands.

The leader of the host went to the front, and Stafford did not recognize him from anywhere. He had blue eyes light he did, but the tone of the blue was much different from Stafford and Renly's eye color. He had long red hair, which for some odd reason reminded him of the color of Sansa's hair, and a beard. In fact, there was a slight resemblance to his face, and Sansa, which sort of made Stafford feel uncomfortable.

"Ser Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun. It seems the young wolf sent his uncle to meet our retinue. He's taking us more seriously than I thought," his uncle whispered as they rode up to the front to meet the welcoming party.

"Welcome, Lords Stafford and Renly of House Baratheon, we'd like to welcome to the great castle of Riverrun,"

"It is an honor to be here, Ser Edmure," his uncle stated back, but it seemed like more of a courtesy than anything.

"The honor is ours, my lords. His grace, Robb Stark is expecting you too. Let us not keep him waiting," the knight motioned his men and Stafford's retinue to follow him. The front of the cavalry moved at a slower pace, as the men followed the escort provided by the Lords of Riverrun.

The castle grew closer and closer as they approached it. When they got close enough, Stafford and his horse had to be careful not make any bad judgements, as in front of them was a giant moat. The castle was surrounded on all three sides by water, and the only way inside was to enter through the drawbridge. Most of the men in the honor guard stood in awe as the relatively small castle compared to others towered over them. It was a defensive marble. Like Storm's End, the Rivermen used landscape to make the tower very defensible. But unlike Storm's End, it wasn't one big walled drum, it was a literally a castle in the middle of a body of water. And that amazed Stafford, even more than the castle built in King's Landing. The castle was literally built on water. The castle was a floating fortress.

The drawbridge lowered and it was just big enough for them to cross with their horse. They had to wedge in though to make sure there was enough room for each horse to maneuver without them getting spooked. Stafford didn't want to know what was in the moat, and he would not find out by way of getting thrown off his horse. Besides, swimming in full plate armor was a bad idea, he would just sink. That would be the stupidest way in the history of the Seven Kingdoms to die during a rebellion. I'm sure he wouldn't hear the end of it in the other world from his father, who no doubt would not take kindly to his son dying in such a manner.

The thought of the death of his father could not escape him as they crossed the drawbridge into the giant castle of Riverrun. It came so soon, and the revelation that he was the only legitimate son came as a sudden shock to him as well. Stafford went from the young prince in King's Landing to Lord of Storm's End, and a claimant to the throne. The father that Stafford had known wasn't the same man that he was during his prime. The same Lord of Storm's End, who bought the Targaryen dynasty to its knees. The Lord, who fought a war, because of the abduction of his betrothed. Many had said he looked and acted like his father, but truth be told he had never seen his father before the rebellion. And sadly he didn't want to suffer the same fate as his father. Like his father had told him, he was not him, and he would make his own mark in the world. While he was not much of a father to Joffrey, he was at least present in Stafford's life. It may have actually been their similarities to one another that pushed his father to pursue more of a role in his life. No matter what the reasons were, Stafford was thankful for all of moments he spent with his father, and it saddened him that his mother had apparently been plotting to kill his father to put Joffrey on the throne. But no matter what, he still couldn't find it in him to hate his mother. He wondered what she was thinking now as Stafford waged open rebellion against his brother. But none of the past was important now. Stafford knew he had to live here and now. There was still plenty of war to be fought, and each fiber of Stafford's body itched for battle.

* * *

When Stafford and his men entered the castle, they put their horses in the now crowded stable. Stafford and his men were told by Ser Edmure to follow him to the Great Hall. The men were still in their riding leathers and armor, and were probably looking to rest, but everyone including Stafford followed them. Some of his honor guard followed him on foot as they entered the great hall. The rest of the six hundred cavalrymen were sent to the barracks.

Stafford entered the great hall flanked by his two kingsguard members, Ser Bolling and Ser Barristan. His uncle, Renly was by his side, while some of his men in the six hundred man honor guard filled in any of the gaps in the protection. As they entered a herald declared the names and titles of those who had titles.

"Lord Stafford Baratheon of Storm's End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and Dragonstone, claimant to the Iron Throne in the south, he is accompanied by his uncle Lord Renly Baratheon, his hand, and Protector of Storm's End and the Stormlands," the herald declared to all in attendance. There were more people than Stafford had expected. Some looked like landed knights, and minor lords, who looked to Riverrun for refuge when the Lannisters were scouring the Riverlands. There was an old bald man right next to what looked like a throne. He looked like he was a fighter even in his old age. Ser Edmure took his position at the left of the throne. Right next him closer to the throne was Robb's mother, who had been an envoy to their cause in Stafford's camp. And finally sitting on his seat was the young wolf, Robb Stark.

Robb had changed since they had met in Winterfell. That seemed like ages ago now. He still had the same thick red brown hair, and blue eyes, much like Sansa's now Stafford had thought about it. Robb might have grown an inch, but he definitely had more of the look of a warrior than he had in Winterfell. He had a real sword on his waist now. He remembered when he sparred with him in the training yards in Winterfell. They were just using dull tournaments. Now they both had steel blades, which were the tools of real soldiers.

"Welcome to Riverrun, Lords Stafford and Renly Baratheon. We would like to personally congratulate you for your victories against Lord Tywin in the battle near Harrenhal," the old knight on the right side of Stafford stated.

"You can thank my uncle for tactical advice, we wouldn't have been able to beat him so handily if it was just me and my nephew doing all the work," his uncle Renly stated referring to his grandfather Lord Eldon, "But as you all know, we're still fighting a war. And that's why were here,"

"Indeed," Robb's mother stated, "Now we all know of all that has happened so far in the war. The Lannisters are far from defeated, and the Seven Kingdoms are still divided."

"Which is precisely the reason for us being here. We have a significant force in the Riverlands, it is in your best interest to become our ally," Renly explained.

"We are not denying that allying with your forces would be a most useful advantage for us. However, how can we be so sure that you will make honorable and trustworthy allies," Robb suddenly spoke up. He had his direwolf at his feet, something that would intimidate most men. In fact Renly looked slightly less comfortable than he had been.

"Because honor is means everything to me. When I promise something to someone, I will follow through with it," Stafford stated in reply.

"Is that what you said to my sister, Arya? Where was your honor when you broke your promise to her," Robb retorted with some venom in his voice. The scene in the Godswood played in Stafford's mind. He had promised to never hurt her. He promised to be by her side. And that day he broke all of those. Renly looked at him, he probably the change of expression in his face. _I guess even your worst mistakes catch back up to you._

"Let's not get personal-" Renly tried to begin, but Stafford stopped him.

"Robb. I know this looks bad, I really do. I wouldn't like it very much if someone I barely knew did what I did to my own sister," Stafford began. Robb's expression didn't change, but Stafford felt he had at least been willinging to listen to his explanation, "However, given the circumstances, we must not allow the past to cause us to turn against one another. There is a threat to the stability of the realm."

"I would love to just forget about what you did to my sister, but frankly that just isn't possible. She trusted you to keep your end of the promise, and you failed to do so. How can I know that you are trustworthy enough to keep your promise?" Stafford paused for a moment. He could feel the piercing eyes of all those in attendance in the Great Hall. All of them anticipating his next move, his next words that he uttered, and his ability to back them up. This was the noble court, deadlier than all the battlefields in all the land according to his Uncle Stannis.

"I don't expect you to forgive me for what I did. Frankly, that isn't the point. There is a war. A war between powerful houses, all seemingly throwing armies against one another until one day the war ends and someone becomes King. We could let our personal conflicts take control of our decisions, sure," Stafford declared with a great deal of fervor in his voice. Robb's leaned forward a little, and his direwolf stood up from underneath his throne, "But, if you want to win this war, you _need_ my army, ans much as I _need_ yours." Whispers echoed through the Great Hall, and resounded with such a sound. Stafford and his uncle Renly stood before the self proclaimed King of the North, as they awaited his reply. Stafford noticed that Robb's mother shot her son a look. Robb sighed, and looked straight at Stafford.

"You're right, I probably won't forgive you for your tresspasses against my family. However, you are also correct that an alliance would benefit our forces. Let me consult with my advisors, and you will hear of my decision before you and your men leave," Robb stated.

"Lovely, so does that end our little meeting, Lord Stark?" Renly stated.

"That's _King_ Stark to you, Baratheon," A loud boisterous northman, who Stafford assumed was one of Robb's bannerman boomed.

"Ah that's right you fashioned yourself a crown, but I only recognize one king, and he happens to be standing next to me," His uncle retorted. His uncle would not be intimidated by the man, as he looked at the northman straight in the eye when he said those words.

"Your loyalty is admirable, Lord Renly. However, that topic was about to be what my son and I wanted to discuss next. If we ally with you, and your nephew, would you require my son to bend the knee and dismiss all his claims to an independent kingdom?" Robb's mother stated. His uncle smiled. Stafford knew that this would come up, eventually. Something that he was hoping to avoid, but unfortunately it might not be a possibility anymore.

"Unfortunately the realm will not be the same if we allowed you to separate from the kingdom. There are plenty of things the kingdom has to offer the North, and once all the unrest is settled, and my nephew is on the throne, all your lands and titles will be remain with both House Stark and Tully," His uncle stated.

"Hah! You expect the King in the North to bend the knee so easily?" the loud northman stated again, to some of the resounding cheers of the people in the hall. Others stayed silent, as Stafford and his honor guard stayed in the center of the Great Hall, "Our King has never tasted defeat!"

"So has mine, except there's one thing your king doesn't have that my king does," His uncle Renly stated, "We have close to fifty five thousand men, and a gathering host in Storm's End to act as our reserve. I'd wager your undefeated King of the North has at most thirty thousand men. And one more thing your king doesn't have, that mine does," Renly pointed to himself as he addressed the loud northman. Stafford thought the large man would lunge at his uncle, and by the look on his face, he might have if Robb had not spoke.

"Lord Umber, stand down. Like I said, Lord Stafford, we will factor this into our final decision on whether or not to become your ally," Robb stated.

"Take as much time as you need, your grace," Stafford stated, and as soon as the people in the room heard Stafford address Robb in this manner, shock filled it. Even his uncle Renly seemed to shoot him a look after he addressed Robb in that way, "I haven't been crowned King by anyone, I am but a simple claimant. Whether or not your relinquish your crown to become my ally is up to you."

Robb sat up on his throne, "True honorable words have never been spoken, my lord. Before we adjourn, my mother has something she wants to say to you. Afterward, you are free to roam the halls of Riverrun, and have my servants show you and your hand, Lord Renly to your guest quarters," Stafford nodded, and Lady Catelyn began to speak.

"Lord Stafford Baratheon, as you know my family is very important to me. Blood runs thicker than anything in this realm, and being able to know the safety of any of my family members is of paramount importance to me," She began. Stafford knew where this was leading to before she even began her words, "Which is why I must ask, what are your intentions with my other daughter, Sansa? How do we know that we can trust you will remain true to her, and her well being? How can we know that she is truly safer with you than if she had been in King's Landing?"

Stafford looked around, and thought deep and hard about what he wanted to say back. He felt that some of it would be improper, or some of it would not be the answer that her mother was looking for. In the end, Stafford knew that he had to say what he felt inside, and he knew that the truth was the only thing that would set him free.

"If you choose to believe one thing that comes out of my mouth, and think that everything else is lies, believe what I am about to say now. I love her more than I ever had in my life. I had to hurt people, because of this love, I have had to sacrifice ties to my family, I had to break promises just so I can be with her. While in no way does it excuse anything I might have done, because of my love for her, I want everyone to know that my intentions with her are simple. Through her, I will unite our houses, and if you permit, even if you don't decide to become my ally," Stafford stated. Stafford could tell that Robb seemed to be pondering something on his throne now. Robb looked at Stafford and nodded, like it was a sign of respect. Stafford noticed that his uncle Renly had a grin on his face. Lady Catelyn simply acknowledged his word, and nodded.

"We shall consider all you have said in our decisions. If there is nothing else, please kindly leave us to our deliberations, my lords," Robb stated. Stafford and Renly simply nodded, and accompanied by their guard left the main hall to await the deliberations.

* * *

Stafford spent the rest of the day training his skill with his axe. There was a war that needed to be fought, and neglecting training would make him worse on the battlefield. He needed to be a leader. He needed to be warrior. He needed to be everything for his men, because at the end of the day they looked to him for inspiration. The men were fighting for his cause, exclusively his cause. He wasn't going to let all the people, who depended on him down. He would make sure they would be able fight in this war.

"You're absorbing too much pressure from your opponent's blade on the shaft of your battle axe. If you were in a real battle, a strong person would be able to break your axe in half," Stafford heard Ser Barristan say as he blocked a high chop from one of the soldiers he trained with. Stafford had not choice. He trained with whomever he found. They were shedding blood together after all, so they might as well train together. Besides, the people behind the weapons in battle would not be exclusively nobleman. They could be nobles. They could be commoners. They could be anything. If they challenged him in battle, they would have one thing in common: They would be dead.

Stafford followed the advice of Ser Barristan on his next move. A soldier tried to sneak in a blow to the side, but instead of blocking, Stafford met his practice blade with his axe before he the soldier got momentum into his swing. This caused the soldier to stagger backward. _An opening._

Stafford quickly hit the soldier with a low sweep with his battle axe, grounding him. The soldier yielded the fight, and Stafford put himself at ease. He could tell some of the soldiers would not try their hardest in battle against him. Being a claimant to the throne made them more cautious about his safety. As much as he hated that sort of treatment, he knew no one wanted to be the one, who severely injured him. Accidents happen, and these soldiers didn't want to be the unfortunate one to cause Stafford to fall victim to injury, or worse death. However, this soldier gave it all he had, but in the end, Stafford managed to make him submit. He offered his hand to the soldier and the soldier in turn accepted it.

Suddenly, Stafford heard someone clapping, and it wasn't from Ser Barristan. Stafford turned behind him, and saw that it had been his uncle, Renly.

"Not bad, it seems you've graduated from beating up Edric, Joffrey, and other young bastards. Let's hope all of the Lannisters fight like common soldiers, and maybe you'll be on the throne in King's Landing before your next name day," Stafford smiled and leaned on his axe. He had mixed feelings about this war. On one hand, he loved the battles, and he loved all the fighting he got to participate in, which he wouldn't be able to in times of peace. There would be no action in times of peace, just sitting on a throne and playing war in tournaments. But with the war going on there was plenty of battle to be fought in the first place. The thrill of battle, the sound of clashing swords, the war cries of the men as they charged the lines, the sound of the cavalry conjuring thunder from beneath them as they rode into a jungle of spears. All of this is where Stafford felt at home. Everything about battle made him thirst for more of it. Many hated what felt like brutish melee when the infantry engaged one another. Stafford felt the struggle made a person better. If you are unable to fight in those conditions, you cannot call yourself a warrior.

"The war's just started Uncle. There is still plenty of fight left, and that is what excites me," Stafford stated, "Life in peace gets so dull, there are no battles to be fought, and while melee's in tournaments may quench my thirst for battle, it leaves me yearning for more."

His uncle smiled, "You know Robert said the very same thing about life during peace. Then again, he nothing to look forward to after the peace, because the very reason he fought the war, sort of died." Stafford knew what his uncle had meant. Stafford didn't know much about the rebellion, and he knew Renly wasn't old enough to remember all of what happened during the rebellion. Stannis talked about this when they had the chance to speak in King's Landing. His father had always fought for his betrothed, who had been kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen. And even when he had slew him at the trident, Stafford knew they had both died at the trident, because Lyanna had died. His father could never forget about her, and even his mother had some scorn in that. This is one of the factors he strived to end the war as quickly as possible, because if it went on for long enough, Sansa's safety would be compromised. Stafford didn't want to find out whether it is a Baratheon family tradition to end up getting the ones they loved killed. He remembered what his father had said to him on his deathbed. _You are not Robert Baratheon and she is not Lyanna Stark. You control what happens in your story. Live not as I have, but as you want_.

"Any news from the Starks?" Stafford asked Renly. His uncle shook his head no. He paused for a moment, as if deep in thought, but then shook his head once again. Stafford wondered what his uncle had thought of.

"They'll make the right decision in the end, don't you worry dear nephew," His uncle stated, "We just have to make sure Robb Stark's _honor_ permits that he bend the knee to you." Stafford understood this. Their realm could not be divided, they must stand united. Joffrey and his stupidity would not cause the realm to disperse into weakness. The realm will remain strong when he comes to power.

Oddly enough, a new thought popped into Stafford's head. It's not exactly the most normal of question, but his curiosity grew more as he thought about it, "Uncle, why did you even support me in the first place? You could have easily called me a bastard like Joffrey and given your relationship with Uncle Stannis, claimed the throne for yourself."

"Now that's a thought isn't it? Truth is Stafford if I did that, I don't think I would be able to forgive myself," His uncle stated.

"Why is that?"

"There are certain people, who are meant to be kings, because they would make good kings. I had been involved in some...things that would try to put the right people in the right place, and send others out of that position. Even if Robert hadn't died like that, I would have supported you as king, because you would be a better king than your brother. Even if your brother hadn't been legitimate," His uncle explained. Stafford didn't know what to think about his reasoning, but he knew his uncle would be loyal to his cause till he got what he wanted. Even if he looked at just what his uncle would gain if Stafford had been king, it would point to a conclusion, which ended in him supporting Stafford anyway. Stafford would have inherited Storm's End as the second child of Robert Baratheon, and Renly would be unable to do anything about it. However with Joffrey and his younger brother out of the question, Renly would have Storm's End to himself and his heirs...if he decided to have any. Stafford would be unable to pass Storm's End to his children until he had it. Not to mention, he had been elevated to become Hand of the King.

"That's interesting-" before Stafford could finish his sentence, a Tully messenger had entered the training hall. Stafford quickly acknowledged the messenger, "What is it?"

"The king would like to speak to you and your uncle about his decision," the herald stated. Stafford looked at his uncle, and they both nodded to each other. Now is the time we find out the decision that would affect everyone.

Stafford felt his potential allies had made their decisions much faster than he had imagined. He anticipated they would tell him of their decision on their final days in Riverrun. However, Stafford felt relieved that he wouldn't have to wait long enough to find out their decision. Stafford didn't care whether or not they accepted, actually he did, but he wanted to find out whether their efforts had been wasted or had bore fruit like he had wanted it to be. He didn't know what Robb thought of when he made the decision. He knew he had much more to lose than Stafford did if he had decided to become his ally. Stafford and Renly had made it very clear he would require Robb to relinquish his claim to an independent northern kingdom. However, he would gain the security of an ally with a significant presence on land and sea. Not only that, but he could cement a mutual partnership for the years to come even at peace. Stafford hoped his actions, and other factors did not dissuade Robb from banding together against a common enemy.

Stafford didn't know how he would handle all the pressure on him as there were literally dozens of people looking at him as he entered the Great Hall. It had been a day ago since they had entered the Great Hall to take his case before Robb. Everyone in attendance seemed to be in attendance now, even the loud boisterous man, who had been trying to intimidate Renly before. Stafford only recognized a handful of the people standing next to Robb as he was seated on what he assumed was his throne. Stafford could only recognize Ser Edmure, who received them when they had first arrived in Riverrun, and Robb's mother, who had been sent as an envoy to his camp near Harrenhal. The heralds announced his arrival, as well as his accompaniment as they approached the presence of the young Lordling.

"Lord Stafford of House Baratheon, Lord paramount of the Stormlands and ruling Lord of Storm's End. You had come before me to propose an alliance," Robb stated as he looked up from the rolled parchment. He would probably the decision they had made very soon. Renly looked as composed as ever, while Stafford, who had not been good in these type of settings tried to remain as calm as he could, "After a careful deliberation with my advisors, family, and the other trusted persons in my court, we have decided to accept the offer of your alliance." Those words rose Stafford's spirit almost as high as if he got to see Sansa again. They would ride against a mad king like their fathers had done before, barring the kidnapped sister part. Luckily, Stafford had done something about that when he escaped King's Landing.

"Good then we sh-" Stafford tried to begin, before he was interrupted by Robb.

"However, we accept under these following terms," Stafford nodded and waited for the terms to be delivered unto him, "First, House Stark and House Tully will not bend the oath of fealty to House Baratheon until you have secured the crown, and show clear intention of uniting the lands into its condition prior to the beginning of the war," Renly was about to say something, but Stafford made sure told him to stay silent for now. As much as both of them did not like this term, it at least shows that they were interested in keeping the kingdom together.

Robb looked back at his roll of paper, "Second, you will return my sister, Sansa to Riverrun where she will stay until the end of the war." Stafford didn't the sound of that at all, but he continued to allow, Robb to continue with his terms.

"Finally, our armies will retain original leadership, and will not combine in terms of units, formations, and generalship. We will work together, but not mix hosts and levies," Robb stated, "In exchange for all of these terms, we will also provide these terms to compensate. First, After everything has been deemed secure in the Riverlands and the time is right, you and my sister are to be wed in Riverrun." It seems some of the terms weren't so bad after all. Stafford could live with this, he wasn't sure that would satiate the appetites of Stannis and Renly however.

"Second due to our lack of a navy, we will allow Lord Stannis Baratheon to control and become the admiral of whatever fleets we have or will create," Robb stated. That seemed like a decent tactical move, and it will help Stannis get behind some of the terms of the alliance, "Finally, I will promise on my honor to support a united seven kingdoms, provided that you become King and are not killed or defeated beyond any hope of victory." Robb handed the roll over to his advisors.

"Seems like a decent set of terms, we don't necessarily like the clause, which lets you decide when to bend the knee, but we'll just have to cross the bridge to get there don't we?" His uncle Renly stated.

"Any questions, concerns or objections to the terms outlined by the statement?" Robb asked Stafford.

"When do we take the field?" Stafford asked him. He was just eager to get back to fighting the war they were supposed to be fighting.

'Soon enough, for now we'll take a fortnight to make preparations. Rest assured, this is more an alliance of _necessity_ rather than past friendship, Prince Stafford." Stafford smiled,

"It's not a question of friendship, it's a question of whether or not we win the is war."


	39. ACOK Robb III

**A/N: Hello everyone. Welcome back to my stories. I know it's been a while, but rest assured I am back. If I haven't read the notice that was up before this chapter, a lot of things made me unable to update the fanfiction for half a year. However, I believe I can back into the groove and finish this story and hopefully write others. It is currently 2:30 in the morning right now, so here is your fanfic! We will finally continue the story with another Robb chapter. In this chapter, we will get to see the first moves the Baratheon-Stark alliance makes, and how it changes the war. This is when the story begins to divulge massively from cannon, as Stafford's forty-five thousand man host did not exist in cannon. However, Oxcross will most likely still happen as it did in the books. However, there will be another major battle that Stafford will be involved in that does not actually happen in the books. This is because Stafford doesn't exist in the books, and only exists in writing here. He also exists on my computer, with the magic of photoshop and King Edward IV Max Irons. Anyway, without further interruption, let's begin and continue the fanfic.**

 **Enjoy!**

 _Robb_

The negotiations had gone better than Robb had imagined. Seeing the prince after such a long time, he didn't exactly know what could have happened. Robb had mixed feelings about him during all of it. He made this clear to his subjects, especially during the deliberations. Robb wanted a strong ally like Prince Stafford. He had a force of forty-five thousand men, a sufficient naval presence, and guaranteed the safety of his sister. The Lannisters would certainly be sweating over this development. The North, the Stormlands, and even the narrow sea had combined their strength against them. While Dorne, the Reach, and even the Vale have kept largely out of the conflict, Robb definitely thought the alliance changed everything.

Robb pondered all of what happened in his solar. The terms of the alliance had been read out and agreed upon just five days earlier. Yet, they remained fresh in his mind. Some did not like the prospect of having Southerners become their overlords. They saw his promise of fealty to the young Lord as showing weakness. These lords, mostly from the North, would rather fight the stormlords rather than submit to their authority. However, Robb convinced himself he made the right choice. It guaranteed the safety of his family. Most of all, he didn't have to fight against the powerful force Prin- _Lord_ Stafford and his uncle Lord Renly assembled not too far from Riverrun. Robb had every intention to keep all of the agreements, provided Stafford is able to defeat the Lannisters and assume the throne. Besides, his fight wasn't with the Baratheons, it was against those who wrongfully killed his father. While he had the inclination to make the North its own independent kingdom, he wouldn't argue to bend the knee if it were for the greater good of the realm. It is the honorable thing to do. He would not pursue a crown just for its prestige while his people suffered. Rest assured, if his ally failed in his ambitions, he might not be so inclined to give up his crown so willingly.

"Your advisors require your presence, my son" He heard someone say. He turned from his seat. The voice belonged to his mother. She had also been present when the terms for the alliance had been read out.

"It's a war council, yes? Tell them I will arrive as soon as I can," Robb stated. His mother had a slight look of concern.

"Are you alright, Robb? You seemed lost in thought," She asked him. It seems that mothers really were able to sense how their children were. She knew him more than he knew himself.

"It's nothing. I was just thinking about everything that has happened. The war, the business with Stafford, all of it," Robb replied. His mother gave him a reassuring smile. The same smile she gave him when he was a child in Winterfell when he had just lost a toy.

"I know the past few months have been hard. You've been forced to act in a manner not expected of someone so young," she stated, "But you must stay strong. Believe it or not, the people look to you for leadership." She was right. They did. They believed in him enough to crown him king.

"Thank you for your concern mother, but I better be off lest my advisors complain about missing my presence," he stated. She nodded and with that he made his way to the latest war council leaving all of his previous thoughts behind in the solar. And of course his trusted companion Grey Wind followed him to the war council. _We must beat the Lannisters before all this talk about Kings and realms were to even be considered._

* * *

His most trusted advisors attended the war council, as per usual. However during this council their new allies were present. As soon as Robb entered the chambers of the war council, he could feel the tension between those present. Greatjon Umber and Lord Rickard were not so particularly fond of the Stormlords in attendance. When Robb looked at Stafford, he noticed he had his usual advisors around him. His uncle, Renly, in his green plate armor, his granduncle, Lord Eldon, and a few other Storm Lords whose names Robb couldn't remember. Sometimes Robb still had trouble looking the former prince in the eyes. He had so much wrong in his eyes. He still wondered whether he could forgive him for all of his actions. The chambers were simple. The only notable things in the room was a table in with a map of Westeros. There weren't any seats, as they would take too much space in the room.

"It appears the young wolf finally reveals himself to us. Perhaps you could arrive in a more timely manner in the future?" Stafford's uncle Renly declared from the end of the table.

"How dare you address our king in such an unfitting manner!" Greatjon Umber barked looking none to pleased at Lord Renly.

"And here I thought we were getting along so well," Lord Renly retaliated in a mocking tone, "Surely not all Northerners act in the same _unruly_ fashion." From the look in his eye, he could see that the Greatjon looked ready to pounce on Lord Renly.

"Enough, Lord Renly, Lord Umber please refrain from being at each other's throats during the war council," His uncle, Edmure declared diffusing the situation. The large man held himself back, while Lord Renly looked pleased with himself. Having such a diverse group made petty conflicts like these common, "Since everyone is now present, we can now begin."

Robb had been part of many war councils in the fight against the Lannisters. However, he had been surprised at the high tensions between the newly allied factions. He had not expected the Northern Lords to trust their new allies, however Robb didn't know it would be this bad. Since his great Northern host had not been beaten in battle, it probably fed into their belief that they could easily overwhelm the southerners. This was sentiment the Riverlords luckily did not share. They tolerated the Stormlords, because the Riverlords knew they were necessary to ensure victory. He couldn't fathom a more dysfunctional alliance if all of the factions involved were at each other's throats.

"Preparations on our end are going as planned. We have assembled a decent amount of men here. They will be ready to march in at most a week," His uncle stated. The others involved in the discussion began to move closer to the war table. On the table was a map of Westeros, with tokens indicating the armies of the major factions involved in the war. There was a token of a wolf and fish next to Riverrun. Not too far from Harrenhal was a token of a black stag upon yellow, "From my estimation, our host in Riverrun will only be about fifteen thousand. If all our men were combined with the men from the North, the host would be around thirty-five thousand,"

"Perhaps if you had not sent levies and lords back to their castles, you would have more men on hand?" Lord Renly chimed in. He quickly brought the commanders attention to the Baratheon host's position near Harrenhal. On top of the illustration of the half ruined castle was a Lion token, symbolizing the force Stafford's grandfather Tywin held in Riverrun, "Currently our forces have their hands full pressuring the old lion in Harrenhal. They still have a significant force after our battle with them, and our armies lack siege equipment to efficiently besiege the massive castle."

"And your the strength?" Robb's uncle asked still focused on the map.

"Forty-five thousand. Three fourths levy infantry, and the rest of them cavalry. We have no siege engines, but plenty of battering rams and siege ladders," Lord Renly stated with confidence. The reports they had on his force were right on target. The force, while a sizable one, did not have the equipment necessary to complete a large scale siege of Harrenhal. The host, more built for open combat rather than a prolonged siege, could only harass Lord Tywin. Siege would not ideal for them. Even with his victory near Harrenhal, Stafford's host seemed to still be at a strategic disadvantage despite his advantage in numbers and morale.

"You outnumber them near two to one, stormlord! And the castle itself is in a state of decay. If you and your men quit being craven and took Harrenhal, it might help us all," Greatjon Umber boomed as he banged his fist on the table causing some of the tokens to bounce.

"And risk us losing men and manpower on a pointless siege that may or may not give us a better strategic position? It's not being craven, it's being smart, clearly is a foreign to men such as yourself,"

"Enough!" Ser Edmure declared before Greatjon Umber even had the chance to get his hands on the Baratheon. Lord Rickard, held him back, and whispered something to calm him down. The council quickly got back to the task at hand.

"I would like to say something," Robb stated. His uncle nodded, making way for him at the table, "It seems that if we stay put in our current positions, we would be giving up our the advantages we gained in winning our respective battles. However, there is one action I could think of that would prevent this." Robb moved the wolf and fish tokens towards the Westerlands.

"Attack the Westerlands? A bold move if I don't say so myself," Stafford added, breaking his long silence. Stafford had been especially quiet during the war council. For the most part he let his uncle do most of the talking. He just stood there looking like he wanted to be somewhere else.

"Very bold, indeed. Considering we have a decent foothold over the region now, it isn't such a bad idea. Thirty five thousand can wreak havoc in the Westerlands. But there's also a problem with the Tooth. What do you propose to solve such a problem?" His uncle asked him. The Golden Tooth was the gateway to the Westerlands from the Riverlands. The castle is one of the main reason why Lord Tywin felt his lands were secure. However, Robb had something up his sleeve to deal with the problem.

"I know a way, where we can bypass all the trouble with Golden tooth. There's a secret passage that I discovered with some help. I can get our armies through it without any problem," He said immediately looking towards his direwolf.

"I trust we march through this passage?" Uncle Edmure asked, to which Robb responded with a nod.

"And what do we do, sit near Harrenhal and distract my dear grandfather?" Stafford suggested. While he surely meant it as a jest, Stafford's second idea was actually a brilliant idea.

"Yes and no. When we march through the Westerlands, you will also march from near Harrenhal, to Riverrun. From there you will move your troops on the Road towards the Golden Tooth," Robb explained. There was a look of confusion in the faces of the Stormlords. They must have thought it was madness to retreat from that position, while in reality it might be the only way to get Tywin Lannister out of Harrenhal.

"Why would we pull out of Harrenhal. Not only will that ease the pressure being put on Tywin Lannister, but the raids on the area will allow him to stay in Harrenhal longer if he wishes," Lord Renly countered. Robb however knew of this concern, which is why he had thought of the plan.

"Precisely, Lord Tywin will no longer be trapped in Harrenhal. But that is exactly what we want. When he sees that we are targeting the Westerlands, what will he think the true intentions of the force that had been pinning him down are?" Robb stated. The eldest of the Stormlords seemed to have gotten Robb's reasoning behind his plan. Robb moved the Stag token towards somewhere west of Riverrun, and it was quickly followed by the

"So you aim to lure him out of Harrenhal by making him think our forces are destined to join yours in the Westerlands? You aim to make him think we are attacking with you and leaving Riverrun potentially unguarded?" the old stormlord, Lord Eldon stated.

"Precisely. Stafford, you will move your force towards the Golden Tooth in a feint march. We make him think that you will besiege it to get to the Westerlands. Then when Lord Tywin attacks Riverrun or tries to defend his lands against our forces, you will pounce on him with your forces."

"If it works, it would be a tremendous tactical victory for our forces. But how can we be so sure Lord Tywin will take the bait?" Lord Renly suddenly chimed in, "He is a brilliant strategist. Would he really risk his men, when they are so clearly outnumbered by our forces?" Lord Tywin wasn't a reckless commander, and there was a chance he would go on a literal suicide mission to try to meet the almost seventy thousand troops from both hosts. However, there was a chance that pride would get the best of him. Once news reached him that his precious lands were being raided, his precious seat of Casterly Rock at risk, he would try his hardest to try to put a stop to that. Either a dummy siege of Riverrun, or attacks on other parts of the Riverlands. Anything to get him out of Harrenhal, and into deadly open combat with Stafford's superior host.

"The Lannister's are very proud. Once we strike in the Westerlands after bypassing the Tooth, Lord Tywin will not sit idle at Harrenhal while his holdings are being burned down. And while it is unlikely he will try to pursue our host raiding the Westerlands, he will try his best to harass the Riverlands in the same fashion. An eye for an eye if you will," Robb began to say, "The way this plan works to perfection is if we make him think your host is also destined for the Westerlands. This way Lord Tywin feels safe in basically scouring the Riverlands while we do the same to his lands."

"We also believe from some scouts that the Lannisters have assembled a host under Stafford Lannister near Lannisport. If this is to be believed, would could stop that from happening by taking this initiative," Ser Edmure explained.

Robb adjusted the tokens, moving the lion token out of Harrenhal towards several castles near Riverrun. He didn't need Lord Tywin to be bold and attack Riverrun, he just needed him to feel comfortable out in the open, with no one able to attack him. He then moved the stag token and moved it toward the Lion token, "Quite the intriguing gambit. If this trick works, Lord Tywin will believe he will have free reign to scour the Riverlands. However, if all goes well, he will literally run right into you."

"I expected no less from my liege. We'll beat those lions at their own game!" Greatjon Umber proclaimed

"Sounds good to me," Stafford stated, still looking down at the map, "But if it fails and my grandfather doesn't budge from Harrenhal?"

"What does happen if he doesn't budge from Harrenhal?" His uncle added. Robb paused for a second. He thought a little bit before he spoke, however he was entirely convinced it was the best course of action.

"He won't. I just know it," Robb said. Stafford and the rest of the Stormlords nodded, However, they did not seem entirely convinced the plan was the best one for them. The meeting continued on once they had figured out those components of the plan. Ser Edmure suggested Robb march for his pass with his northern host, and half of the remnants of the forces in the Riverlands four days from now. Robb agreed, while the Stafford agreed he would send word to his host near Harrenhal to march to Riverrun as soon as they can. From there he would begin their false march towards the Golden Tooth.

Once all of the preparations were finished for the plan, his uncle Edmure suggested they finish this war council by discussing the some other factions not involved in the war. After discussions about each of the neutral houses, and regions of the seven kingdoms, Robb could paint a full picture of the war. The Vale remained surprisingly neutral despite his mother's letters to her sister trying to convince them to enter the war on his side. Support from the Vale would put major pressure from the crownlands, and almost ensure a chance to try to take King's Landing to try to bring an end to the war. Dorne remained neutral, which was expected. They had no love for both of the sides fighting in the war. Robb told the council about how he sent Theon to the Iron Islands for an alliance, which would supplement their efforts in the Westerlands. However, the Stormlords and some of the lords of the north simply laughed at the suggestion. Stafford's uncle Renly suggested help from the Reach, but his uncle Edmure said they were more likely to join the Lannisters as they simply had more to offer them. The Reach would certainly be a thorn at their side if they joined the Lannisters. They could raise a levy larger than Stafford's massive levy from the Stormlands. Everyone agreed if the Reach suddenly raised a levy, they should be cautious about its intentions. They had not raised a levy in support of any causes, which was odd. Robb knew they would make their presence felt in the war sooner rather than later. Whether it was in support of their cause or another.

The council continued for a little longer, although they had exhausted all that could be said and many of those in attendance seemed ready for it to end.

"I believe we have discussed everything that needs discussing," Lord Renly stated to the clear joy of his nephew. Everyone nodded, and knew each of them had a job to do to ensure the plans were a success. Soon enough each of the Lords began to shuffle out of the council chambers. Some like Stafford and Renly were one of the first one out of the chambers. For once Robb found himself among them.

* * *

After the council meetings, Robb found himself killing time sparring in the courtyard to kill time. Preparations for the march would probably begin in earnest in the morrow, once everyone had been informed of the plan. Robb knew he had to keep his skills on the battlefield sharp. He didn't want to be a hindrance to his men when it came time to do battle. His direwolf watched him patiently luckily not lunging at his sparring partners. The wolf was smart, more than a lot of people gave beasts credit for. He might have been smarter than Joffrey or even his half brother Stafford, now that Robb thought about it.

"Poor technique, Stark! It seems you've made little progress from since I last saw you fight in Winterfell," he heard someone say as he managed to disarm his sparring partner. Sure enough, it was the axe wielding Baratheon prince Stafford. On this rare occasion, he was alone. Usually he had his uncle or his ever present bodyguard Ser Barristan next to him. He had changed since he had last saw him in Winterfell. He had grown a little taller, and his body seemed much more built that it was. He looked a proper warrior now, much like what his father had told him Robert Baratheon had looked like during the rebellion.

"Fancy a match then Baratheon?" He stated. Stafford laughed and jumped over the low fence into the fighting pit. He already had what Robb hoped was a practice axe out for battle.

"Sure, why not?" the person, who had been fighting him exited the fighting pit. However, that didn't stop a small crowd of soldiers, guardsmen, and even some knights from gathering around them.

Much like their first match in Winterfell, they began to circle each other when the match began. Stafford's stance had changed a little bit from their first match, more conventional and refined. Stafford seemed to have no interest in pressing the initiative, so Robb began the match striking at him with swift cuts, lunges, and slashes from his sword. Stafford parried most of the blows using the long handle of his longaxe. Robb tried his hardest to hit Stafford from all sorts of different angles, but he couldn't open him up. However, he could tell Stafford seemed to be giving up ground as his flurry managed to make him take a few steps back. Robb remembered Stafford's game aimed to wear him out, but he had accounted for that by making not putting too much power onto his strikes with his sword. They were strong enough to make Stafford feel them when he blocked, but he didn't put too much underneath each swing so he wouldn't get worn out.

Just as Robb thought he could get an opening on Stafford by striking him to what looked like his unguarded side, Stafford surprised him by parrying his strike well away from his target. For some reason, the parry made his sword arm feel the fatigue off all of the carefully planned offensive strikes he had earlier. Stafford, now with enough space and time to execute a windup did so with his two handed longaxe. Robb could only raise his sword up to try to block it. He did, but at a cost. The impact of the axe strike caused Robb to stagger back, losing some his footing from the sheer power. For a boy of sixteen, Stafford's hits really had some power behind them. Relentless, Stafford continued to pressure Robb with clinical power strikes, which Robb could block because of how easy they were to read. However, even though he had the opportunity to block or even parry them, Robb would be the one staggered by the blows.

As time passed, Robb thought he could handle the power behind Stafford's strikes. He even had the time to hit him with his own attacks. Eventually he had snuck in a few stabs making him react to his strikes. They traded offense and defense. It truly seemed like they were not giving up any ground toward each other. He thought he had cornered Stafford when he had successfully evaded one of his blows using a sidestep. When he sprung up to counter, he felt the air leave his lungs. He did not see, Stafford had managed to sneak a strike his axe knob. Still to stunned and devoid of any breath, Robb could not react to a swift axe strike to his side. Any of the remaining air left him after that powerful strike. Robb wasn't about to give up though, and kept his grip on his sword. Stafford winded up a downwards executioner type strike, which Robb tried to meet with his sword. However, when Stafford's axe clashed with his sword, he could no longer keep his sword. The clang of the sword could have been heard throughout the known world. Robb defeated, held one of his arms out to concede the match. Robb was proud he didn't get knocked down like the last match they had in Winterfell.

"Well fought, Stark," Stafford declared adjusting something on his training plate.

"You got lucky on that round," Robb joked picking his sword back up, "I'll show you how it's done this time." Stafford prepared himself with a smile as the two clashed once more.

They spent quite some time in different bouts. Stafford won almost all of them, until in one of them Robb knocked the axe out of his hands with a brilliant parry. Robb gathered momentum from that and in the round after, he managed to disarm him again. In their final bout of the day, the two tired combatants slugged it out, until Stafford's sheer physicality won him the last bout. The two tired from all the exertion eventually took rest underneath the shade of a sycamore tree. Stafford sat underneath it leaning against the trunk, but Robb remained standing just allowing it to give him a little bit of shade. His direwolf Grey Wind was of course by his side. He had followed him after their small battle. The late afternoon sun still hung high in the sky.

"You actually managed to disarm me, Stark. I'm impressed not many people can accomplish that," Stafford admitted. The Baratheon had won a majority of their matches today, but Robb felt he fared well scoring those two victories against him. It wasn't like Winterfell where there was a very clear gap in their skill levels. Robb admitted Stafford was still a much better fighter than him, but he wasn't at all surprised when he scored his victories against him.

"I wasn't going to let you upstage me in front of all the crowd watching us," He smiled. Stafford seemed like a decent person, easy to get along with. He wondered why he of all people would do some of the things he admitted to. "Stafford, answer me honestly."

"What is it?" He asked with a look on his face.

"Why did you do it?"

"Why did I do what?" Stafford replied with a confused look on his face.

"You know what I mean," Robb pressed, as Stafford had finally gotten a clue of what he was asking, "What made you decide to...break the betrothals." Stafford was silent for a little bit. It was kind of scary seeing him like that. Usually he would be anything but silent from what Robb knew about him.

"You know, Robb there are a lot of reasons for why we do things. I just…" He paused for a second, "can't explain it coherently. I know my actions were rash and impulsive. It will truly seem that way. But the moment I realized my feelings for Sansa, I knew what I would do because of it would cause me to break my original promise."

"And what of my other sister? Was she merely nothing to you?" Robb responded rather venomously.

"Don't get me wrong, I cared for her. I wouldn't do anything to hurt her, but-" Robb cut him off.

"But you did anyway. Stafford, when she wrote letters back to Winterfell, and believe me she did, she mentioned you in all of them. You were the first person she ever wrote about like that. And how do you repay her?"

"Robb, I understand. Believe me, I do. I don't take promises nearly as lightly as I did when I hurt her," Stafford stated, "It'll take some time to regain your trust and your families trust. But if that's the price I have to pay to be worthy of becoming your friend again, to become a part of your family once Sansa and I marry. I will pay that price," Stafford seemed sincere. He leaned up against a tree, ever passionate with each word he spoke. Robb didn't agree with Stafford's actions, and he certainly had to speak with his _other_ sister about it too. But Robb was willing to give him another chance. He wasn't about to give all the trust too him, and be the best of friends with the man though.

"We'll have to see, Baratheon. Hopefully, you prove yourself worthy of trust,"

Their conversation continued. Stafford even told him he had made preparations for Sansa to arrive in Riverrun as promised. While the two of them would probably be busy in campaign before they could see her again, Robb was glad he would honor his part of the agreement. _Perhaps he could be trusted after all. Eh, we'll still have to see._

 **Any extra notes and reviews will go down here from now on. I admit this was a particularly hard and boring chapter to write. I just wanted to get back into the groove, and I promise things will be more exciting. Once the Ironborn invade, and the Reach enters the war (hint: these events will happen in the coming chapters), things will get more exciting. And for those wondering, Arya will also get a chapter in the coming updates, so I haven't forgotten about her. Those excited for the marriage between Stafford and Sansa will have to wait a little while, as battles must be fought before that. Please leave a review, and continue to support the story. I will be making edits to the earlier chapters starting even with the first one in some of the days I don't post a new chapter. Thank you all so much for reading and I will see you next week.**


End file.
